


i will let the wind go quietly

by ringerxo



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec plays guitar, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, And Raphael is apathetic, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Baking, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cinnamon rolls, Clary is a saint, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Feelings, Feels, First Time, Food, Food Porn, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hand Jobs, I started writing this while hungry, Lots of it, M/M, Magnus is a master baker, Multi, Non-binary character, Shower Sex, Simon is oblivious, Slow Build, So you're all going down with me, Tattoos, Translation Available, actual cinnamon rolls, feel all the feels, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 55,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ringerxo/pseuds/ringerxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus owns a bakery. Magnus bakes. Magnus lives above his bakery. Magnus's life IS the bakery.</p><p>One day, Clary pulls in a busker from the streets. And that's just the beginning.</p><p>(Rated E for later chapters. Rated EEEEEEEEEEEEEE for how excited I am.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. counting acts and clutching thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Coffee shop AUs being my favorite trope of all time, and me rewatching the Malec kiss far too many times to be healthy, brought me to this point. I am tres excited!
> 
> I have 2 chapters written already and I'm losing sleep over the rest of them because it's so much fun to write.  
> Chapter titles will be lines from songs; the fic title is from [Hometown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJtlLzsDICo) by Twenty One Pilots. This chapter's title is from [Is It Wicked Not To Care?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HL0-0F9BaHQ) by Belle and Sebastian.
> 
> Thanks to [Hadar](http://alexidon.tumblr.com) for goading me on and fueling my love for Malec by liveblogging her Shadowhunters marathon to me. God bless you, love!
> 
> All characters will eventually make an appearance. With those scones, you think they won't drop by? ;)
> 
> \---
> 
> This fic is being translated into [Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4477414).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come and have fun with me at [my tumblr](http://grrrbarrowman.tumblr.com), and while you're at it, follow [my wonderful BETA reader Hadar](http://alexidon.tumblr.com)!

Magnus blamed Clary. For everything, really, but for this one, too.

"Please?" she asked, doe eyes fixed on him, and he sighed, punching the dough down again, thinking that _it's too early in the morning for this_. Scratching his nose, he wiped his hands on the towel at his belt before placing his hands on his hips and glaring at her.

"Why do you keep doing this to me?" he asked with a sigh. "Do you remember the last busker we hosted here?"

"That was different," she insisted, pulling over his box of recipes and flipping through them as she spoke. With her head bent over the box, Magnus could stick his tongue out at her burnished messy bun; Clary didn't see it, but it did him a world of good. He smirked.

"I saw that."

"No you did not. And how--?"

"I've been working here for five years, Magnus," she said, pulling out several recipes and spreading them out next to the multiple bowls of rising brioche dough that Magnus was working on. "I know you well enough to predict that when annoyed, you act like a whiny child, which is also why I'm going to attempt to bribe you." She indicated the recipe cards. "Choose any three of these as today's specials."

Magnus scanned the cards and groaned. "You speak the truth, Clary Fray," he muttered, picking up the cards, all well-worn, all his favorite recipes. "And you know how much I hate that."

"You can't handle the truth."

Magnus snorted. "Just for that, I'm picking four. And one of them is going to be the lemon-basil tartlets."

Clary shrugged. "I don't care."

"And the orange cardamom muffins."

At that, her eyes narrowed. "Now you're just playing dirty."

"Is there any other way to play?"

She rolled her eyes. "And just for that I'm letting him in now."

Magnus's eyes widened. “But it’s 6 AM!” he said to her retreating back. 

Sighing, he put away the recipes that didn't make the cut and began measuring out the flour for their regular billionaire bars, shaking his head. “It’s as if she owns the place sometimes,” he mused to himself.

An hour later, Simon had popped into the kitchen for the first tray of brioche rolls and a quick report on the busker. "He's tall," Simon said, munching on the roll and making what could almost be considered purring sounds deep in his throat. "Has a guitar, but hasn't played yet. He's defrosting his fingers against a cup of coffee."

"Let me guess," Magnus said, sprinkling flour onto the counter and slamming down the shortbread dough for the bars with slightly more force than usual. "Fingerless gloves?"

Simon shook his head and slurped at his iced coffee. "No gloves. Clary found him in an alleyway a few blocks over," he said. "Apparently, he's been sleeping there for a few weeks."

Magnus paused for a few seconds, and then continued rolling out the dough. "Well, shit," he said under his breath. "I was nearly going to let him stay outside." Guilt curled inside him like smoke.  


"Don't feel like a villain, Magnus," Simon said. "We all get orange cardamom muffins. Today, you’re two more types of a hero than usual."

"You and your school buddies are the only ones who like those muffins," Magnus commented as he gently slid the dough onto a cookie sheet and trimmed the edges.

"And we're the ones that keep this place afloat!" Simon declared, snagging the raw dough edges and munching on them.

"Not if you keep eating everything before it goes in the oven!" Magnus snapped, and Simon beat a hasty retreat.

\---

By the time Magnus had sliced the now-finished billionaire bars, the muffins were in the oven, the tartlets were setting in the fridge, and his temper had cooled. Since the noise level was higher than usual outside, he wiped his hands on the towel at his waist and picked up the tray of artfully arranged treats so he could see for himself and also get the bars out to the potential customers.  


Checking that his hair was completely under the beanie - it would be bad form for the staff to have poor hygiene and it was bad fashion to use a hairnet - he pushed the swinging doors open with a nudge of his hip and raised the tray high above his head, moving into the light and bustle that was Biscuit, his pride and joy. Six years ago, he had bought the fully-equipped industrial kitchen from a foreclosing businessman. A couple of years later, when the bitter lady next door passed away, he swooped in and bought her failing furniture shop from her disaffected children, and his assistant Clary had converted it into a coffee shop and hired the rest of the staff. The bakery still got orders for events from time to time, but most of Magnus's work was for the shop, and after a few bumpy years, he had learned to love the interactions with customers, few and far between as he may choose to make them.

Behind the counter, he could see that the squashy sofas and armchairs scattered around the room were taken up earlier than usual today, and the throng got thicker closer to the stage, where Clary's charity case was playing something soft and saccharine.

Sliding the tray into its place in the display case, Magnus tapped Raphael, who was playing Candy Crush, on his shoulder. "Buzz off, Clary," the young man muttered, and then paused when Magnus cleared his throat.

"Clary's at the register right now, Santiago," Magnus said mildly. "Simon's at the machine, actually working. And what are you doing, besides staring at Simon's ass?"

Raphael's eyes widened and he shushed Magnus, who rolled his eyes in return. This is what happens when your staff are all college kids. Everything seems dramatic to them.  


He made a shooing motion, and Rafael scurried to the orders printer, nearly knocking into Simon, who was chatting with Clary over his shoulder as he pumped mint syrup into a patron's cup.

Magnus resented that they had to compete with Starbucks, but Clary insisted on flavored syrups, so he punished her by making her come up with the combos. She enjoyed it far too much for it to be a punishment, and she was right about the potential besides. 

Magnus had to exact revenge upon her for proving him wrong. Maybe he should make the staff wear frilly aprons.

He stood on his tiptoes to peer over the crowd, his curiosity overpowering his need to get back to the kitchen and check on the muffins. The boy's head was down, staring at his instrument. His jet black hair was messy, but not gnarly; his clothes were worn, his cuffs frayed at the edges, but they looked only moderately grungy, not completely filthy. 

He looked up for a moment, and Magnus could tell that he was pale - paler than people would normally look in Rochester during the winter months - and his voice carried a slight hoarseness to it that wasn’t smooth enough to be a byproduct of smoking.

Magnus stepped down from the stool, resolve curling in his gut, and tapped Simon on the shoulder. "When he takes a break, send him to me," he said. Simon nodded, and Magnus went back to the kitchen, right in time to take out the muffins.

Setting them aside to cool, he whipped up the dough for pumpkin spice scones. While it was cooling in the fridge, he pulled a few chicken breasts and a chunk of parmesan out and put a pot of water to simmer on the stove. Humming along with Tom Waits on the stereo in the corner, he grinned as he tore open a bag of penne pasta and poured it into the salted boiling water. Baking was his haven, his vocation, his happy place and his livelihood, but cooking made him giddy. Especially if he got to nosh on cheese during.

By the time someone hesitantly knocked on the door, Magnus was slicing fresh mushrooms to top the two bowls of steaming chicken parm. "Come in," he called.

There was a pause, and the door opened.

"Simon was right," Magnus mused aloud, "you are tall."

The boy immediately hunched his shoulders forwards, as if to hide his presence. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bane," he said quietly, "I'll leave--"

"And who would eat the second bowl?"

The boy's gaze followed Magnus's gesture. He bit his lip and asked, "Is that for me?"

"I'll trade you," Magnus said, with a suddenly dry throat. The boy’s eyes were hazel and green, tired and wary and entirely stunning. "This bowl of excellent chicken parm for your name."

"Alec," and as he sat in the proffered chair, he still hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as I am that the tartlets should be going out," Magnus said as a timer beeped. "Start eating, Alec, I'll be back in a few."

He whisked the tray of tartlets to the front, sliding them into the cooled display case. “Magnus, is everything okay with--” Simon started, worried, but Magnus waved him off.

“I’m just feeding him, Simon, everything’s okay. Get back to work.”

By the time he had gotten back to the kitchen, Alec had already polished off half of his bowl. He slowed down as Magnus poured them both a cup of coffee, following him with his eyes, and only started eating again when Magnus took his seat beside him, setting the mugs down between them, and took his own first bite. The creamy, garlic-laced pasta was good, but Alec’s appetite was making it look like ambrosia.

"Alec," Magnus asked softly, realization dawning, as Alec stopped to take a sip of the coffee, murmuring his thanks, "when was the last time you had a hot meal?"

"A few days ago, at my friend's place," Alec replied. "Ramen." He shook his head at his nearly empty bowl. "This was so far from ramen. This tasted like actual food. Actual good food."

Magnus couldn't help it; he preened a bit, his head twitching to the side and an indulgent grin slipping onto his face. "Why, thank you," he said.

There was a brief moment of silence, where Magnus stacked the bowls and collected the cutlery, and Alec's head was bowed again. Magnus cleared his throat; Alec's head shot up. "And now for dessert. You eat while I make scones."

Before he could take the dishes to the sink, Alec slid off the chair and took them away from him. "Allow me," he said, straightening up and smiling slightly. "I'm particularly skilled at this."

Magnus had to forcibly restrain himself from laughing; instead, he straightened his beanie, washed his hands, and took the scone dough out of the fridge while Alec washed up. The silence this time was comfortable, which is when Magnus had to ruin it.

"So, Alec," Magnus said conversationally as he sprinkled flour over the counter, "would you like to tell me why Clary found you sleeping in an alleyway this morning?"

There was a pause, and then a quiet clink as Alec stacked the dried bowls. "Not really," he said. His shoulders were hunched again, Magnus noticed.

The impasse they had reached stretched on, until Alec turned around. "Thanks for the meal, but I should get going," he said apologetically.

“You didn’t even have dessert,” Magnus said, gesturing towards a fresh muffin on the table.

Alec shrugged and kept his eyes trained on anything but Magnus.

"Where to?" Magnus inquired.

This time, both of Alec's eyebrows rose. "That's n-- uhm, well."

"Are you trying to find a polite way to say that it's none of my business?" Magnus inquired with a grin. The flush high on Alec's cheekbones was the only indicator that he was right, since the boy wasn't talking.

"Because you're right," Magnus said, softening a little. "It's none of my business. However, if you ever want to come play here again, feel free."

"Oh. Uhm-- wow. Thanks."

Magnus shrugged and smiled. "Next time, you can pass a hat around - and before you ask, we don't take a cut. That's a dick move. We benefit from the people you bring in as it is. Now go," he pointed at the door, "I need to finish these before the afternoon rush."

Turning back to the counter, he smiled to himself as he shaped the mounds of dough on the counter and rolled them out. The  _ snick _ of the door closing sounded like a promise.

 


	2. something in these futures that we have to be told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Jamiroquai's [Virtual Insanity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Et9b7LWfnxQ).
> 
> I am blown away by the response. I always loved coffee shop AUs and I'm so glad the obsession for coffee-fueled and scone-fed ships is shared! You guys are freaking amazing. I love you all - from those that commented to those who helped raise the hit counter. Every thing makes my heart jump a little bit more and it's been somersaulting all day!
> 
> (A note of warning: Don't get used to the pace, I'm just super excited and churning these out at a very high pace. But rest assured, I never post a chapter without at least 500 words from the next one written, as a sort of promise to myself.)
> 
> This one gets a little more personal, a slight turn to the bad times the bakery had. It'll all get better by next chapter, no worries.

Magnus jerked awake at 2 AM, his phone ringing. He groaned twice - once when he realized that he was supposed to be in the bakery in a couple of hours, and a second time when Clary's name flashed at him from the screen.

His employees knew that he went to sleep at 9 at the latest, and after the first few times that Simon drunk-dialled him, they learned to never wake him up if he wasn't supposed to be up, "and not even if Biscuit is on fire, because I live here and if it's on fire I would know!" he bellowed down the line the last time Simon thought it would be funny to make him grumpy.

Bellowing at Simon was fun. Too bad he'd gotten better at his job and he couldn't justifiably do it as frequently anymore.

With a sigh, he answered the call. "Clarissa," he muttered, "unless this is your mother calling to tell me that you've died and can't come in tomorrow, tell me why--"

"Magnus, are you out of your mind?" Clary whispered angrily down the line. Magnus blinked, held the phone back to make sure it was Clary, and put the phone back to his ear.

"What--"

"I just set Alec up on my futon," she continued, "because he was sleeping in the alleyway again. Are you insane?!"

"What do I have to do with Alec's sleeping arrangements?" he croaked, rubbing a hand over his face and sitting up in bed.

"You sent him away!"

"I did no such thing, Miss Fray."

"You could have offered him to sleep on the sofa in the shop."

"Clary," Magnus snapped, "I don't know this kid. I don't know where he came from, why he's sleeping in an alleyway, or-- fuck." Magnus sighed, and tried a different approach, forestalling the angry "but--!" from Clary. "I fed him," he said lamely. "I offered him to busk by us and we wouldn't shave anything off. I'm sorry, but I can't leave someone I don't know in the shop overnight."

"But--"

"And despite the fact that you're all like my kid cousins," Magnus cut her off, his voice getting crisper, "you can't bully me into it. If I decide to extend anything to Alec besides free food and coffee, it's my decision."

Clary sighed. "Elias really fucked you over."

Magnus narrowed his eyes. "Elias has nothing to do with this."

"Elias has everything to do with this."

"Clarissa--"

"I get the hint, Magnus," she interrupted him. "I'll let it go. But you can't be like this forever."

"Watch me!" he shouted to the phone, but Clary had already hung up.

Flicking on his bedside lamp, Magnus scrubbed his face and sighed again, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table and putting them on while he padded his way to the bathroom.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Magnus could see the slight unconscious frown that seemed to bloom on his face every time his ex was mentioned. Closing his eyes, he was lost to flashes of color and sound.

A bright flash of white; a melodic laugh; smooth dark skin; sweet sighs and heated groans. And then tears, hot and stinging, and a vacuum of feeling and presence.

Magnus opened his eyes and was horrified to find them damp. Muttering under his breath, he stepped out of his boxers and into the shower, resigning himself to the fact that he probably wasn't going to be able to fall asleep again that night.

\---

Half an hour later, Magnus was rounding the corner of the shop, the dusky twilight draped over him like a comforting presence. Taking a deep breath of the freezing air and shuddering happily with the freshness of it all, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, locking it behind him.

The streetlight from outside shone on the mismatched chairs and tables scattered throughout the room, and negated the necessity of turning on all the lights at such an hour. He made his way to the kitchen, flicking the lights on there, and sighed, happily this time. Memories and thoughts of Elias was buried under layers of routine, and he had his kingdom to himself again.

Soon enough, he had a pot of coffee going, Jeff Buckley crooning in the background, and he was flicking through his box of recipes for Clary's favorite salted caramel chocolate cupcakes when his phone buzzed again. Huffing with annoyance, he picked it up.

[3:09 AM, Simon]  
_She's on her way over. Couldn't stop her._

[3:10 AM, Magnus]  
_If I throw anything at her, it's coming out of your paycheck._

[3:10 AM, Simon]  
_Legit_.

Magnus was folding the sour cream into the inky batter, a frown fixed on his face, when Clary stepped into the kitchen. She was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, running shoes, and a contrite expression.

"I hate you, Clary," Magnus said darkly, scraping down the sides of the bowl and giving the batter one final stir. He pushed the bowl down the counter, along with an already-papered cupcake tin, and Clary collected her hair into a messy bun, taking the cue, and moved next to him, spooning the thick mixture into the compartments.

They worked silently together. It wasn't until Magnus had measured out the sugar and water into the pan and was stirring it that Clary spoke.

"Magnus--"

"Get me the butter and heavy cream from the walk in," he interrupted her. "If you're extra good and don't talk, I'll send you for a vanilla bean as well." Inside, he was a storm of emotions and memories, a storm that he was trying to contain.

She fell silent and followed his orders, disappearing into the walk-in. He let go of the spoon and grasped the counter, taking a deep breath. By the time Clary emerged, he was back to stirring the quickly-melting sugar, but his shoulders had lost their proud carriage. She cubed the butter and watched him, until he sighed again.

"I don't have a good track record with charity cases, Clary," he said, eyeing the caramel in the pot. "You of all people know that." Dropping in the cubed butter in, he leaned back a bit as it sputtered and frothed, but didn't let up on the mixing.

"Elias played me for a fool." His voice was subdued, nearly a whisper.

"He played all of us for a fool, Magnus," Clary said carefully, and watched Magnus slide the pot off the flame and stir in the cream.

"I'm the only one who fucked him, as far as I know," Magnus snapped. "Unless you'd like to enlighten me."

Tension filled the room, until Magnus gave the pot one final vicious stir and sat down, heavily, on the kitchen floor, head in his hands.

Clary crouched down in front of him, back to the caramel, and put her hands over his. After establishing contact, she rubbed her hands over his, trying to calm him; his breathing evened out, and after his sigh, she carded her fingers through his hair, once. It was their routine, back from the long, long nights they had spent trying to salvage Biscuit from the ruins Elias left behind him. Clary wouldn't suffocate Magnus, just let him know that she was there and they were in it together, and they never spoke during the ritual. It was nearly hallowed ground, and the silence during it spoke volumes more than they ever could.

"Magnus, I'm sorry," she said after Magnus had gotten back to his feet. "We were all duped by him, but he ran you over. I'm so sorry we didn't catch it in time."

"Oh, you did," he said bitterly. "Remember?"

She bit her lip, flashing back to a year ago. She had rushed up to the apartment at midnight, frazzled and scared after a day of frantic phone calls to credit card companies and their accountant, to find a silent and staring Magnus immobile in front of a half-written e-mail to a local jewelry company, cancelling his ring order. It was poorly worded, and Clary completed it and sent it off before she pulled a zombie Magnus to his bedroom, tucked him in, and stayed with him until dawn creeped in the windows.

"Magnus," she said, and didn't know how to continue. So she leaned her head against his arm and pressed it there, another silent reassurance.

Until he remembered that he forgot to salt the caramel. Reading his mind and his widened eyes, Clary squeezed his shoulder. "It'll be fine, Magnus. Classic caramel is never a bad thing."

"But you like salted," he protested.

"You were making them for me?"

He shuffled around a bit and Clary threw her arms around him and hugged him, hard. "I don't deserve you, Magnus," she said into his shoulder. He hugged her back, hard, and she yelped.

"Likewise," he said, smiling slightly. "Now go pour me a cup of coffee and put those trays in the oven."

\---

Simon banged into the kitchen right as Magnus finished shaping the olive foccacia buns and was sliding the trays into the oven. "I tried, man," he said, rushed, his hair sticking straight up and his glasses skewed. "But she wouldn't listen to me."

Magnus shrugged. "I'm fine now," he said wearily. "A bit tired, and I made a new cookie that I need you to test and name, but I'll soldier through."

Simon nodded, and then hesitated, looking over his shoulder. Magnus realized, belatedly, that he must have brought Alec with him; he and Simon were similarly protective of Clary and after what Elias had done to them, they were doubly careful with strangers. Clary would have left Alec on the futon, but Simon wouldn't.

"Alec," Magnus raised his voice, "you can come in."

Simon's face turned sheepish, and Alec shuffled in behind him.

He looked better than yesterday, but he was still wearing the same grimy hoodie and jeans. Magnus clucked his tongue at Simon. "You couldn't get him a different sweater?"  
Simon stared at him. So did Alec. And so did Clary, who had gotten up from her nap on one of the sofas and came in right in time to hear Magnus adopt the Jewish mother tone.

"Why is everyone staring at me?" Magnus asked.

"Because you're being nice so early in the morning?" Clary suggested, and then dodged a bag of chocolate chips thrown her way and scampered to the utility closet, giggling. Simon rolled his eyes and grabbed a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee, and Alec stayed where he was, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

"Will you be playing today, as well?" Magnus asked, peeking into the oven to check on the rolls. Alec nodded. Clary emerged from the closet with a black polo shirt and a pair of loose black pants; after giving them to Alec and ushering him into the closet to change, she turned to Magnus and opened her mouth as if to say something, but before she could say anything, Magnus shoved a dark chocolate cookie into her mouth.

She made a surprised noise, and then thoughtful as she took a bite and chewed. "Cherries," she said, after swallowing. "And... is that tahini?"

"They're vegan," Magnus said, "to appease our ever-growing hipster crowd." She took another bite and nodded enthusiastically.

"Boy, Magnus, we should piss you off more." This comment came from Simon, who was munching on his own cookie between taking sips of coffee.

Magnus _tsk_ ed and swept the rest of the batch onto a glass plate and scrawled a little card with the price and description, placing it on top of the fragrant hillock of cookies. "You never learn, Lewis," he said, and sailed through the doors, leaving Simon wondering what horrible punishment he was coming up with this time.

The frosty sun was peeking through the windows of the shop, casting slanted shadows on the caramel floorboards and illuminating the dancing dust motes floating through the empty, silent store. After putting the cookies in the closed display case, Magnus made a mental note to get Simon to dust the bookshelves scattered around the shop during closing tonight.

The walls were covered with pictures - mostly landscapes, the occasional group shot, and some minimalistic graphics. They were grouped by loosely defined rules, one that changed according to Clary's mood; the one feature that she was not allowed to touch was the wall besides the stage, where Magnus, after a long night of drinking, had scrawled Robin Goodfellow's parting words from the end of A Midsummer Night's Dream in a fit of pique. Besides tracing over the words every few months when they started to fade, that wall was left untouched.

On the small stage, next to the lone amplifier, was a guitar case with a white ticket on it. His curiosity getting the better of him, Magnus stole over to the stage and flipped the slip of paper over.

It was a baggage claim ticket for a Mr. A. Lightwood, who had come in from London mid-September. There was nothing else on the case that could give him any information, so he went back to the kitchen, slightly disappointed but curiosity piqued.

When he pushed the doors open, the three people in the kitchen were conferring in low voices. "Talking about me, dears?" Magnus inquired archly; the three sprang apart as if burned, confirming the suspicions that he had since Clary gave Alec clothing from the staff stash.

"Alec has something to ask you," Clary, who was the first to recover, declared. She nudged Alec with her elbow; he looked at her, pleading, and then looked at Magnus, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat.

"Mr. Bane--"

"Please, for the love of God, don't call me Mr. Bane," Magnus interrupted him, suppressing a yawn. "If you're going to ask for a job, I'll preface my answer with a huge 'I told you so' to these two munchkins."

Clary, who had crossed her arms over her chest, smirked in response. She knew him too well to be shocked by his perceptiveness. Simon, however, was wide-eyed as ever, and Alec seemed to be struggling between being highly amused and, again, shocked.

"Well," he snapped when the silence stretched on and Clary started sniggering, "are you going to ask?"

Alec started, and then stammered, "Mr-- uh, Magnus, can I, uhm, can I have a job here? I mean, can I work-- uh, I would love to help, uhm, working, uh--"

Magnus turned to Clary and said, slowly, "I told you so", at which she erupted into a fit of giggles, clutching her middle. Simon blew out a raspberry and then buried his face in his coffee mug, shoulders shaking. And then Magnus turned back to Alec, smiled slightly, and said, "You can start by bussing tables. I'll need you to fill out some forms at the end of the day." Catching Alec's gaze, Magnus hardened his voice, made his gaze as steely as possible without stopping to wonder how one does that, and said, "Do not screw me over, Alec. If this doesn't work out by the end of the week, I'm not keeping you on for all the charitable feelings in the world."

Alec nodded, crossed and uncrossed his arms over his chest, nodded again, shoved his hands into his pockets, took a deep breath and smiled. "Thanks, Magnus," he said, and Magnus regretted saying yes because that smile was more effective than a well-aimed bowling ball, especially when it made Alec's eyes crinkle up at the corners like that.

"Clary, a word," Magnus said, putting his hand on the table to steady himself and making it look like he was sweeping something off onto the floor. He had to preserve _some_ of his dignity, after all.

Simon ushered Alec to the shop so he could start teaching him the ropes. Clary poured herself a coffee and refreshed Magnus's, hopping onto one of the barstools as Magnus flit around the kitchen, taking the rolls out of the oven and measuring out the dry ingredients for mocha scones.

"If he fucks up, I'm not letting you make any hiring decisions ever again," he threatened, sprinkling some salt into the flour and glaring at her. "I'm making the mother of all leaps of faith here. My first since Elias." The name even tasted sour in his mouth, but he pushed past it and continued as Clary sipped quietly from her mug, her eyes serious.  
"You better have a damn good reason for even letting him occupy your futon, which you got from me if I may remind you."

"He closed with us yesterday, and he was a huge help," Clary said matter-of-factly, coming back from recovering the chocolate chips previously used as ammo and ripping the bag open to munch on a few, oblivious to Magnus's evil eye. "He moved around the kitchen and the back like a natural. Plus he saved Simon's life at least twice."

"Everyone in this place saves Simon's life twice a day at least," Magnus muttered owlishly.

"Which shows how well he's falling in already," Clary countered, and Magnus huffed in annoyance, tipping the baking soda into the bowl and mixing it gently.

"Also, he told us about himself. Trust me, he isn't a serial killer, he's not sketchy. He's amazing."

"Pray tell, honey."

Clary shook her head, handing Magnus the grater when he came back from getting the frozen butter. "He'll tell you in his own time. Watch. But I vouch for his character." Her eyes twinkled. "Besides, he has an exceptional ass."

Magnus stared at her, and then shrugged. "True." He wagged his finger at her. "But a perky butt does not a good employee make!"

She drained her mug, put it in the sink, and sauntered to the doors, throwing an exaggerated saucy look over her shoulder. "We'll see, my darling," she cooed, and flounced to the counter, followed by Magnus's laughter.


	3. even the stopped clock on the wall is right two times a day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little heavier on the exposition. We learn a bit more about Magnus's past.
> 
> Next chapter we get to learn more about Alec, so stay tuned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so, ahem, frustrated by the slow build that I wrote [a Malec car sex oneshot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6646336). But don't worry, this will continue to plod on happily, because Malec are too precious here to rush into anything.
> 
> Title is from [Happy Alone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GiWtzesa0bQ) by Earlimart.

"Everybody here seems to be in a good mood," Raphael commented when he came in that day for the afternoon shift. He set an espresso to drip and changed the filter for their cinnamon coffee, spooning fresh grounds into the top and flicking the switch.

"Alec's working here now," Simon pointed out brightly, drying the floor next to the register after he had spilled his own coffee there. Raphael privately resolved to switch out Simon's next cup for decaf and bully him into not switching it back.

"Not surprising," Raphael said, taking the espresso to the customer and turning back to the machine to dispose of the grounds. "Clary always had an affinity for strays."

"She took you in, so I get that," Simon said over his shoulder, and then turned back to the woman at the register with a grin. "How can I help you today?"

Raphael snorted and poured Simon a new cup of coffee, decaf and black, placing it next to him but out of the line of flailing elbows, and went back to replenishing the plastic covers on the counter.

Simon turned around to the espresso machine and saw the coffee waiting for him. "Who ordered that?" he asked, confused.

"Your elbows, and that mop."

Simon's eyebrows rose and he cooed, making Raphael want to punch him and hug him at the same time. "Is that for little ole meeeeeeeeeeeee?"

"Yes," Raphael muttered. "Now drink it before you make me regret it."

"Oh," Simon said, "you're gonna regret it whether you like it or not."

Raphael was sure of that.

\---

Instead of trawling Pinterest for new ideas and brainstorming recipes, Magnus opted to spend his free time out front, sprawled in an armchair and watching his employees.

(By 'free time' he meant 'the one precious hour after the afternoon rush and before he had to prepare tomorrow’s brioche dough’, and by employees he meant 'Alec'.)

He checked his watch and sighed; he had 15 more minutes to look for more morning bread recipes, but all he wanted to do was sneak peeks of Alec, a towel to his waist and a plastic bucket held at his hip, clearing off the tables.

Magnus noted with inward approval that any tips Alec found on the tables were put into the tip jar and not stashed away. People have done both in the past, and it wasn't considered a cardinal sin in Biscuit to keep the tips for yourself, but it wasn't very nice. They were a small enough staff as it was, and things like that weakened the unspoken bond between the employees.

"Did you pick the music?"

Looking up from his iPad, he saw Alec at the table nearest to him, clearing it off. Alec's stance was still tense and he worked with a military efficiency.

Magnus shrugged. "I only do it when I'm sitting out here," he said. "I don't impose my taste on others when I'm not here."

Alec looked at him, tilted his head, and then turned back to his work. For the life of him, Magnus couldn't understand what the tilt meant, so he asked, "Why?"

Alec gave the table one last wipe with the towel, straightened the chairs, and shrugged, not facing Magnus completely when he said casually, "Fall Out Boy are just so 2009."

"You take that back right now," Magnus couldn't help himself from saying indignantly. "Right this instant."

Alec grinned and said, "Just kidding. Music is timeless, but they have new material that's even better." Magnus, who was still recovering from the grin, didn’t know what to respond.

"I thought they all left the band and the lead singer was the only one carrying the torch," Simon commented, carrying a chalkboard with the daily specials written on it, past them and setting it up right next to the door.

"That's Panic! At The Disco," Alec said at the same time that Magnus said, "No, dear, that's Brendon Urie."

Simon came back in with a triumphant grin. "Alec's right," he said, "because Urie retained the band name even though it's a one-man show now."

Magnus shook his head and sighed. "How misleading of him."

Alec huffed a short laugh and shook his head, heading towards the sink with the bucket full of dishes to be washed. Magnus sighed and was about to follow Alec when his cellphone rang. Pulling it out, he frowned at the screen and answered. “Gwen, why are you calling me a couple of days before your wedding? Aren’t you swamped?”

“Magnus, I’m fucked.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Gwendolyn,” he said lazily, edging past Raphael at the counter and back through the doors into the kitchen.

“Don’t sass me, boy,” she said. “I fed and clothed and housed you when you could have been out on the streets.”

“Gwen, what’s wrong?” Magnus asked, a curl of concern in his gut. She never mentioned how she saved him from the streets when he was 16, so this must be dire.

“Our baker bailed out on us. We need a cake.”

“I’m on it,” he said immediately. “Send me requirements and pictures of the venue, and come around tomorrow morning to pick it up.”

“Magnus, you’re an angel.”

He scoffed but grinned fondly. “Anything for you, Gwen,” he said, and hung up.

\---

Magnus turned the lazy Susan with the cake, wearing a scowl to rival Raphael's. The red velvet body was perfect, held together by stiff buttercream icing, royal icing at the seams, and a prayer.

Gwen had sent him a picture of the venue, an explosion of raffia and raw silk on the edge of a meadow. Nature and green and ground, and wedding white, but not bone white.

"I trust you, Magnus," Gwen had said. "Freestyle."

Magnus sighed and plopped down onto the one dilapidated couch in the corner of the kitchen, staring moodily at the tablet. Scrolling through the album of his previous works, he sighed.

Setting the tablet down, he hoisted himself up and moseyed over to the supply room. Flicking the light on, he walked over to the shelves with the gel food dyes and brushes, needles and trays and cutting tools.

Magnus could still remember the first time that Gwen had handed him a practice needle and a grapefruit. It was in the back of her shop, after it had closed for the day. The books of tattoo designs lined the wall outside, but in the back room, Magnus was perched on the black leather seat, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, with Gwen instructing him how to hold the needle and how much pressure to apply. He was only sixteen, and she had put more faith in him than anyone before her - hiring him as a part-time staffer, letting him sleep in the tattoo parlor.

Grabbing a basket and throwing everything he needed into it, he went back to the kitchen and cleared the counter. After going back for the cornstarch, he brought his tablet to the table and propped it up, scrolling through the album of his creations.

It started at that first fruit, the round, yellow skin peppered with crude swirls and letters. The designs got better as the album advanced, and then the citrus fruit were replaced by arms, and legs, necks and shoulders, a hip. (He never photographed the intimate tattoos.)

He bit his lip, looking at the one design he was most proud of. It was a friend of Gwen's, a woman who had come back from Iraq with hollow eyes and a pale stripe on her ring finger. Gwen asked Magnus to do that tattoo, shakily, at the end of the day, and Magnus had seen in her eyes that she didn't trust herself to not fuck it up.

The woman had shown him a picture, silently, of a wedding dress with lace sleeves, ending mid-upper arm, and said, "I want those on my shoulders."

It had taken them three sessions. Magnus had sketched in the outline, then filled in the focal points of roses and beads, and then traced in the lines. The woman never balked, never twitched, never objected, never even grimaced. If it wasn't for her blinking, Magnus could have sworn that he was working on a flesh-colored grapefruit. After their last session, she stood up, thanked him woodenly, listened to his safety instructions with an unnervingly calm air, and left.

He had never asked what was up with her, and Gwen never spoke of it again. He didn't even know if she paid. All he knew is that those twin tattoos were the most intricate work he had ever done, and he was immeasurably proud of himself.

Humming to himself, a plan forming in his mind, Magnus grinned, his previous moody disposition making way for focus. He was slipping back into the zone, and he was loving it.

\---

Alec peeked through the round windows in the kitchen doors, watching Magnus roll out a layer of even and glittering fondant, humming to himself. It was 6 PM, dark outside already, and Magnus had told him to come to him so he could fill out forms before the evening rush, but Simon had warned him profusely to not "invade Magnus's mind palace".

Alec had furrowed his brow at that. "Isn't that a thing from Sherlock?" he asked. Simon's eyes lit up, but before he could pull Alec over to the corner to discuss British television, Maureen banged her way into the shop and Simon had to explain Alec to her.

Raphael had left a few minutes prior for an evening class. Alec was left behind the counter with Clary, who was keeping up a constant stream of conversation "so that you can be in the know", since she had already heard his sob story when she and Simon had accosted him on that first day and dragged him out for a beer.

So far he had learned that Clary managed the coffee shop and Simon was her best childhood friend; that she had met Magnus after he had expertly worked on her self-designed sleeve (which she proudly showed Alec); and that Simon would definitely have no problem with clearing out the miniscule third room in their apartment so Alec can stop breaking his back on the futon.

"Are you sure?" he asked doubtfully. "He seems really attached to his instruments."

"He can move them into his room," she said airily. "He's so skinny as it is. Plus, it's not like anything particularly acrobatic happens there. Simon hasn't gotten any since Maureen broke up with him a year ago."

Alec whistled lowly.

"Is that for the year, or the fact that Maureen and Simon dated?" Clary asked, an eyebrow perfectly arched.

Alec smirked and shrugged, earning a laugh from Clary and a glance from Simon mid-sentence. Clary waved at him.

"So how did he get from a tattoo parlor to a bakery?" he asked Clary, wiping the counter unnecessarily.

"He started out as an assistant in a patisserie in the city, as a second job," she said, after a brief pause to take a customer's order and set up the espresso grounds. Alec watched the twin streams spiral into the cup, entranced. "He just latched onto it, I guess. He worked at it, and still has some trip-ups--"

"For the life of him, he can't do meringues," Maureen broke in, and flashed a brilliant smile at Alec. "Nice to meet you, man. It's about time Magnus hired some more help."

"And we don't really let him mess around much with anything deep-fried or made of puff pastry," Simon added with an empty coffee cup from the bar, putting it into Alec's bucket. "He gets too frustrated too fast."

"Speaking of frustrated, Simon," Clary started with a gleam in her eye, but Simon stopped her.

"Maureen is coming over tonight to pick up the instruments, and we'll practice at her place from now on," he said. "I told you I'd deal with it, I'm not a child."

"But you're close to sulking now," Clary pointed out sweetly.

"You don't, um, have to go to all that trouble for me," Alec injected awkwardly. All eyes turned to him and he quailed under their combined gazes.

"Don't worry, Lightwood," Clary said, patting his arm, "once you get your first paycheck, you're chipping in on the rent."

"And I'm not sure you'll thank us when you see the actual size of the room," Simon piped in.

"Now," Clary declared, "let me teach you how to make coffee and take orders. We all multitask here."

\---

Magnus raised his head from the cake and, giving the lazy Susan a tiny push, resumed his work.

He was sitting on the long metal kitchen island. Sitting on a chair made his arms tired and standing made his neck ache, so he levelled with the cake and had managed to elevate it on a series of steady platforms so that it was level with his chest.

After laying the fondant on the cake, he had painted it a rich caramel color and trimmed the edges. Working from the bottom up, he was recreating the lace pattern from the tattoo on the fondant in white royal icing with a gold shimmer, lending the whole creation an otherworldly sheen that was smoothed out by the caramel color of the cake.

He was just finishing the loops on top of the cake when the door creaked. Keeping his hand steady - a valuable talent he had learned from years of tattooing twitchy people - he muttered, "Have you managed to fend the zombies off yet?"

"What?"

Magnus pulled his wrist away slightly and, with a twist of his fingers, finished the last loop. Leaning back, he surveyed the cake with glee. Gwen would be so happy.

"Hang on," he nearly whispered. Scooting his butt to the end of the table, he unfolded his legs and stepped down carefully. The cake stood true, the table heavy enough to not move. After Magnus had carried it to the supply room and into the darkened pantry, he came out and locked the door behind him, then turned to Raphael, who was standing by the door, unsure of what to do.

"Unless the zombie apocalypse is happening on our doorstep," Magnus said archly, "no one was supposed to come in here before I came out there. But since the cake is fine, and beautiful, I'll let it pass. What is it?"

"Well, it's 9 PM and we've finished closing up the shop," Raphael said carefully. "We're all going back to Clary's, to help Simon move the stuff out of the small room and help Alec settle in. Clary told me to invite you."

Magnus smiled, but there was no warmth behind it, even though his blood was singing through his veins with exhilaration. "Thanks, but I have to prepare the brioche dough for tomorrow," he lied. He wasn’t so sure that they would want him there. He wanted to be there, but they… they didn’t need him.

Raphael shrugged and left, leaving Magnus alone in the big kitchen to suddenly realize that he was very, very lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lace shoulder tattoo inspiration: [this](http://www.tattooeasily.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/lace-tattoos-27.jpg). Next week I'll add what I think Clary's sleeve would look like.


	4. i'm all right when you need it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the roughness of this chapter - I haven't posted in a while, and I wanted to get this one in before a long weekend without access to the computer. The song is Two Hour Traffic's [Sure Can Start](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RVHB4IXQ-FE), and all mistakes are my own. I'll add a note in a couple of days with a schedule and maybe touch up the chapter, but here you go! The end will definitely make up for any other mistakes.
> 
> I am blown away by the love for this fic. I love each and every one of you.

"I swear, really, he isn't an ogre," Alec insisted for the fourth time that evening, a mug of warm spiked cider in his hand. He was on the floor of his (their. He had roommates now. Jace would shit himself laughing if he knew) living room, leaning against the couch and toasting his feet on the radiator standing in front of where the fireplace used to be.

Simon insisted it was poetic. Clary insisted that it took up precious wall room where they could keep a TV. Alec just welcomed the warmth.

"He is a horrible person!" Simon shouted from the kitchen. Alec could see him from where he was sitting, head in the freezer as he searched for a Hot Pocket. "Steven Moffat is the worst thing to happen to Doctor Who!"

"Simon, how far is your head shoved up your ass?" Raphael inquired acerbically, feet curled up under him as he sipped the cider in an armchair facing the fireplace. Alec turned around to face Raphael, putting his mug on the coffee table and warming his back.

The apartment reminded him of student dormitories in Oxford, where he had spent memorable afternoons with his friends. They were as small (but none of the rooms were as small as his new room, where he could fit a bed and a tiny closet and nothing else) and as cozy, and as full of alcohol.

There was a beep from the kitchen and Simon appeared in the living room with a Hot Pocket and a frown. "Not up there at all, Santiago," he snarked back, and they settled into a nearly scripted back-and-forth about British television while Clary climbed over Alec's legs and sprawled on the couch, putting her mug on the table next to Alec's.  
"Get used to it," she said, indicating Simon's flailing hands and Raphael's smirk. "They bicker so much, you'd think they were married."

"They communicate more than my parents do," he said with a grin. Clary raised her eyebrows and grinned; he had told her all about his parents, cultural attaches in the UK that acted more like they were poured into a mold of the perfect politician than actual human beings, on their first night, when Simon and Clary had plied him with beer until he told them his whole not-even-sordid story.

He was just a victim of circumstance, some would say. That didn't mean that his circumstances were stellar.

The voices from the argument raised in volume. Clary put her mug down, about to chastise Simon, when the doorbell rang. Simon's hand, in the air with the Hot Pocket wrapper, about to attack Raphael (who was hiding behind a throw pillow), paused. "I wonder who that is," he said. 

Raphael smirked, threw the pillow at a completely unsuspecting Simon, and said above his spluttering, "I think I know who it is," and got up to open the door for Magnus.

Clary's face broke out in a grin, and she bounded over a still-indignant Simon to hug Magnus. "I'm glad you made it," she said honestly, and stepped back to survey him. He was wearing black jeans and a jewel-toned green knit sweater that was a few sizes large on him, but he had swapped out the utalitarian studs in his ears for delicate golden hoops. He grinned nervously, and she decided that even if the glint of gold in the corners of his eyes was eyeliner, it didn't matter.

He leaned to the side and came back with a bulging cloth bag. "I come bearing gifts!" he declared, stepping past Clary and giving her a fleeting grateful look. Her smile turned soft, and she closed the door behind him, darting into the kitchen to pour Magnus a mug of cider.

Adding a stick of cinnamon and a splash of wine, she hummed to herself. It had been a while since she had seen Magnus use the hoops, or any makeup for that matter; he had toned down his appearance since he started the bakery, and even more so since Elias disappeared. Hoops were a small touch that spoke volumes, at least to her.

Emerging from the kitchen, she saw Simon rip open a bag of chips and Magnus smack him upside the head. "What did you do that for?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head and shoving a handful of chips into his face.

Clary handed Magnus the mug and went back to the sofa, folding her legs under her. Alec had moved to the sofa as well, so she couldn't stretch out, but his legs were stretched out in front of him and he was slumped into the sofa, so she could still fold her legs under her comfortably.

Alec, on the other hand, didn't know where to put himself. He could put his legs up on the table, but he was still kind of new here and Clary took pride in the furnishings. In the end, he settled for his natural pose, abandoning the hands crossed over his chest for gripping his mug over his torso.

"Alec, you look fairly regal," Raphael commented, opening a tin of cookies and sniffing them. Alec smiled and kept position, the low buzz of alcohol calming him down. He didn't need to keep up appearances right now. He wasn't at work. He was with friends. People who didn't judge him, in any case. Friends? Maybe. He hoped so.

"Magnus, you brought all this for Alec?" Clary asked, accepting the bag of chips from Simon and digging in.

Magnus shrugged, the gold hoops glinting in the light. "It's a party, sort of, isn't it?" he asked with a grin. "Alcohol alone does not a party make."

Simon nodded sagely, mouth still full. Clary crunched down on a chip. Raphael attached his phone to the stereo and a low thrum of music filled the room. Simon and Raphael started their argument up again as if nothing had happened meanwhile, Raphael nearly knocking over his mug when he saved Simon's from flying off the table because of the latter's flailing.

Clary went to investigate the bag of goodies, and Magnus made his way over to the couch and sat next to Alec, not before he kicked off his boots and folded his legs under him.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they surveyed the room. It was cozy, Magnus decided, but his blood was still racing with the thrill of his bout of creativity. It was waning (during its peak, he had broken out the gold eyeliner and his nice sweater), but he couldn't completely calm down.

Instead, he pulled a wrapped package out from behind him and thrust it at Alec, who raised an eyebrow at him. "You got me a present?" he asked, an eyebrow rising. Magnus nudged him with the package in lieu of an answer, grinning; Alec straightened up, put his mug on the table, and took the package from Magnus.

"Um... Thanks," he said, a flush high on his cheekbones. "You didn't have to."

"Ah, but I did," Magnus said loftily. "I had it lying around, and you're probably going to put it to better use than me."

Alec ripped off the wrapping. A cascade of bright colors spilled into his lap; he picked up the furry cloth and saw that it wasn't a glitterbomb, but a blanket, swirled with a myriad of colors and fuzzily soft to the touch.

"A touch of color for a room that I know to be drab, at least in its previous incarnation," Magnus said. "Use it in good health." Taking a sip from his mug, he watched Alec with a careful gaze, blood racing for a different reason entirely.

Alec smiled again, the blush reaching the tips of his ears now. "Thanks, Magnus," he said. "I'm-- this--"

"Come," Magnus said, unfolding slightly clumsily, "let's see how it fits into your decor scheme." Without giving Alec a chance to respond, he gathered the fabric into his arms and disappeared down the hallway. Alec had no choice but to follow.

\---

"If you try to justify Moffat again, I will scalp you," Raphael growled.

Simon shrugged helplessly, flipping his mug and putting it onto the drying rack. "I can't help it," he said miserably. "I don't like admitting it either. But he had some good episodes."

Raphael smacked his forehead. "No!" he exclaimed. "No he did not!"

Simon hopped up onto the kitchen table, swinging his legs; Raphael, who saw him doing it countless times at the shop, let it be this time. He wasn't sitting on industrial work surfaces, it was his own table. On his own head be it.

"You've gotta admit that Blink is an amazing episode," Simon insisted, and Raphael rolled his eyes. He and Simon had been arguing all evening - through the lugging of instruments to the van downstairs, to clearing out the cobwebs and shoving a bed into there, he and Simon had been debating and talking. It set Raphael on edge, hearing Simon talk utter nonsense, because he usually made sense, even if he was grating at times.

Now, after a couple of mugs of cider, Raphael was feeling especially combative. And when he was set on edge, things usually didn't end well.

He released his fists and sighed. "Blink was only considered a good episode because Martha wasn't in it," he said calmly, "and everyone knows that Martha is the best companion--"

"Not this bullshit again," Simon groaned, and Raphael ignored him.

"--because she never let the Doctor get away with the shit that Rose let fly by and he never tried with Donna because she was too matronly," he said. "But Carey Mulligan was flat. The concept was the only good thing about it--"

"Lifted from other shows," Simon commented idly, and Raphael snapped. He took a step and a half (the kitchen being a tiny one) and stood right in front of Simon, who was an inch shorter than him from his seat on the table. Instead of shrinking back, Simon met him stare for stare, raising his chin a bit.

"One more time, Lewis," Raphael bit out, searching Simon's gaze with his own, "and you'll be sorry."  
Simon's eyes flickered with recognition, and suddenly the room felt all the air was sucked out of it. Raphael was holding his breath, and he knew for a fact that Simon was too because their faces were a scant inch apart. Nothing moved. 

And then Simon said "Lifted". He was going to add "from other shows", but that was kind of hard when someone's mouth was covering your own.

A muffled surprised noise escaped Simon before he could reel it back. Raphael pulled back, eyes wild and mind racing, and spun around, but before he could escape, Simon caught onto his belt and tugged him back, stopping his mind in its tracks as well.

"Raphael," he said quietly, urgently, the shock dissolving into a prickly combination of fear anticipation. "Turn around."

It felt like an eternity before Raphael complied, Simon letting go of his belt. When he did, he avoided Simon's gaze. "I'm s--"

"First of all, don't apologize," Simon interrupted him. "Second--" he took a deep breath. "I'm not sorry."

A spark of confusion. "What?" Raphael asked.

Simon smirked to mask the panic that hadn't settled since Raphael pulled away. "I'm not sorry," he said, "that I repeated myself."

Raphael inhaled, and then laughed, exhaling. "Real smooth, Simon," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Simon shrugged, the panic ebbing away. "Can you blame me?" he said, sliding off the table and onto his feet. Now he was level with Raphael, which elicited a whole new storm of feelings inside of him.

Raphael looked at him, the grin softening. "Can I kiss you again?" he asked simply.

Simon nodded, and Raphael did exactly that, pressing his lips to Simon's with his hands still in his pockets. Simon's hand found it's way to Raphael's cheek, and his heart found its way to his throat when he opened his mouth and Raphael did the same, deepening the kiss.

The muted music from the other room ended abruptly, and Simon pulled back, resting his forehead against Raphael's briefly before grinning. "This won't change anything."

"Are you asking or saying?" Raphael asked.

Simon laughed and kissed Raphael's forehead. "I better go check on Clary," he said, and left Raphael to wonder what the hell had just happened with a curl of hope poking up through his carefully-constructed walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raphael's actions and Magnus's panic will be explained next chapter. Again, rushed! Sorry!


	5. round each corner there's a chance, people searching glance to glance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Clary's sleeve doesn't show up yet, but I've made up for it!
> 
> Wow. Last chapter was rushed, and I am definitely going to touch it up when I finish the fic. But all in all, I'm happy with how it turned out.
> 
> If you're wondering when we'll get to hear a bit more about Magnus's backstory, don't worry, it'll come. Gradually. This isn't called a slow build for nothing. But hey, you got schmoopy Saphael instead!
> 
> Chapter's title is from [Raindrops](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_oLCJIYOVU) by Regina Spektor (and even if you know the song, click on the link, the animation is adorable).
> 
> Let me take a pause to make something abundantly clear. I love you all. Your support is amazing and I'm grateful and, once again, blown away.

Magnus entered the room and immediately stubbed his toe on the bed. "How do you open the door?" he asked Alec, who was hovering right behind him.

"With a bit of luck," Alec replied. "It's mostly jostling and resigning myself to the bottom half of the door being chipped. But hey," he shrugged, "it's better than an alleyway."

Magnus didn't have anything to say to that, so he sat down on the bed. Alec sat next to him. The whole situation would be romantic, Magnus thought to himself, if sitting on the bed was the only action possible in the room without contorting yourself.

"Did Clary trace those out?" Magnus asked, pointing at a series of faint pencil lines, starting from the door and flowing towards the ceiling. Alec nodded.

"She said that this room should look less like a closet, so she's going to decorate it." He shrugged again, and Magnus was struck by how small Alec tried to make himself. He was a tall man, some would even think him imposing, but he was constantly attempting to take up less and less space.

Magnus's hand that wasn't twisting its way through the blanket went to his gold chain, and he looked around the room once again. This time, his eyes fell on the small corkboard on the wall, half hidden by the guitar case leaning against the wall and taking up the only free floor space.

"Did Simon leave that there?"

Alec shrugged, and suddenly looked slightly wistful. "The board is Simon's, but the pictures are mine. My... my people."

Magnus, who had abandoned the throw on the bed and was on his knees in front of the board, grinned to himself as he looked the pictures over. Some of the shots were scenery, but the people were all Alec's age or younger, no parents in sight. In a particularly striking photo, Alec had his arm slung around the neck of a woman who looked like she broke hearts and scrambled them for breakfast; they were both laughing, and shared similar features.

"That's Isabelle," Alec said, "my sister. And the blonde one's Jace."

Magnus laughed. While the few scattered pictures of Isabelle were nothing short of glamour shots, Jace - a handsome man with peculiar shaded eyes and a wicked smile - was clearly a dear friend. The different goofy photos that Alec shared with him were proof enough of that.

"What was this one about?" Magnus turned to Alec, pointing at a photo of Jace, clad in rather distracting leather vest and pants, wrapped around a cement boulder with a ridiculously vacant expression.

Alec looked, then barked a short laugh. "Jace was panda-ing," he said, a smirk blooming on his face and fading just as quickly. "During, uhm. Training."

Alec looked down at his hands, a flush creeping up his neck.

"Do you miss them?" Magnus asked quietly.

Alec looked up with bright eyes, grinned briefly again, and nodded, not speaking. Magnus moved back onto the bed.

_We seem to be silent alot together. Does that mean we're comfortable? I think so._

Alec raised an eyebrow, a single one, and a true grin began building itself back onto his face, and Magnus realized that he had said that out loud.

"I'd apologize," he said, after feeling his cheeks burst into fire, "but I'm not..." He paused, then laughed to himself. "I'm not sorry I said that," he said, slightly bewildered.

Alec's grin was full-fledged this time. "You should let your hair down more, Magnus," he said, nudging Magnus's shoulder with his own. "You're fun. Funny." He considered his words. "Well, both," he conceded.

Magnus grinned to himself, then covered his face with his hands. "I'm so sorry, Alexander," he mumbled into his hands. "I can't help it."

"Hey," he heard Alec say gently, and he felt long fingers prying his hands away from his face. "What's wrong?"

Magnus shook his head, eyes still closed. "I'm on a post-art high," he said, "and I'm loopy. I'm all... I voice out my thoughts and I wear my good sweater and--" He opened his eyes and pointed at them. "Makeup!" he exclaimed. "For the first time in forever!"

"It looks good on you," Alec said simply, and Magnus's racing mind screeched to a halt. His finger was still pointing at his eyes, but they were wide now, fixed on Alec, who was wearing that small grin again.

"Thanks," Magnus said faintly.

"My sister used to use me as a test dummy for her eye makeup," Alec said, and Magnus's mind, which had inexplicably started racing again, halted, yet again. "She wanted to test out her techniques on someone before she'd use them on herself, and my mother is smart enough to not let her go to town on her face, so I let her.

"I wore it out once," he continued, "and I got hit on at least ten times in fifteen minutes, seven of which were on the Bakerloo line."

Magnus grinned. "I can see that happening," he said. Alec's eyes held his for a few moments, and then he huffed out a laugh.

"Only two of them were women," he said. Shrugged. His eyes caught Magnus's again. "They all felt good." This was beyond gaze-catching, this was staring. His eyes were like a riverbed, glinting green and icy blue and gold.

"Huh," Magnus said.

"Yup," Alec agreed, eyes still intent on him.

"Did she ever do Jace's makeup?"

Alec was surprised, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Magnus had to tear his eyes away from the long stretch of neck, a task that became harder when he saw the edge of an inked line peek beyond the neck of his shirt.

Alec was tattooed.

Magnus was so, so fucked.

\---

Simon ducked into the living room, his thoughts tumbling over themselves like overexcited puppies. The only well-behaved puppy was the one that wanted him to go back to the kitchen and kiss Raphael again.

Clary, who was swiping on Tinder, looked up at Simon and grinned. "So Raphael finally went for it?" she asked. Simon weighed several different admonishing looks he could use, but after realizing it was stupid, nodded and grinned, then yelped as someone slid his arms around his waist from behind.

"You really thought it could be someone else, Simon?" Raphael's voice came at him from behind, amused as always.

Simon shrugged, not able to erase a goofy grin off his face. "Magnus is in a weird place today," he said, "no one knows where he'd put his arms."

"Not around you, Simon," Magnus said archly, coming back into the living room and plopping down next to Clary, holding out his hand. She rolled his eyes but put a twenty dollar bill in his palm, which he promptly vanished down his sleeve.

Magnus sent him an appraising look, causing Raphael's arms to tighten a bit and for him to prop his chin up on Simon's shoulder, and said, "Too scrawny."

Clary bit her lip and smiled.

Alec came back into the living room, spied Simon and Raphael, and held his hand out to Clary.

"Okay, so Magnus I can accept," Simon said mildly, really wanting to flail but holding himself back because he was really digging the whole Raphael embracing him thing and didn't want to ruin it. "And Alec I can understand. But when did you have the time? You've only been working at Biscuit for a week."

Alec snorted. "Please," he said, "I made the bet with Clary on my second day."

"We were going to stage an intervention at the bakery," Clary added, waltzing over and ruffling Simon's hair. She didn't even try with Raphael. "Which is why I lost, because I bet that it would happen there."

"Not time frames?"

Clary shook her head. "It was going to happen sooner or later. You've known each other for two years and Raphael has been doting on you for at least a year."

"And you were being adorable," Raphael said.

Simon threw up his hands, accidentally smacking Raphael in the face. "Was I the only one who didn't know?" he exclaimed. Raphael, who had backed away and held his hand up to his nose, gave Simon a deeply affectionate look and said, "Yes."

Alec had found his way back to Magnus's side on the sofa, and they watched Clary, Simon and Raphael bicker. "Must remind you of home," he commented idly to Alec, who snorted.

"If we fought, we used weapons," he said. "Training ones, that is. And our prank wars spanned weeks, and once a continent."

Magnus raised his eyebrows. "Now that's a story I'd like to hear."

"Well, it all started with Jace's weird love of Taylor Swift..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The picture of Jace panda-ing [is a real thing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P9GNbtjXHg4) and gives me life in times of boredom.  
> That face tho.


	6. put on a slow dumb show for you and crack you up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus gets a bit of a break. Alec gets creative. Simon gets cold. Clary gets some.
> 
> (it's more innocent than the summary implies I swear)
> 
> \---
> 
> NOTICE: I'll be posting less frequently - every 4-5 days, maybe less time around weekends. I've started a new job and every minute counts there, so I don't have as much free time. But this story is still going strong, and yes, I'm kinda shocked, too. But mostly happy, because your feedback keeps me going.  
> Yes, yours.  
> Specifically yours.  
>  _Especially_ yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from The National's [Slow Show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KhGUE_KjIo).
> 
> Enjoy! You guys are amazing and I don't deserve you. Fucking brilliant people. Each and every one of you.
> 
> (Also side note this chapter was speed-written today because I'm over the moon about Hamilton's 16 wins so technically I wrote like I was running out of time because of a man who really wrote like he was running out of time okay I'm done now)

Magnus stirred, groaning. He had drank a bottle of water before he hit the sack, but his head still ached. He had gotten back to his apartment at 2 AM, after talking to Alec for an hour after the party had ended.

Alec loved his sister and Jace, and their stories were hilarious. Alec took care to never mention his parents, and Magnus didn't ask, but it was clear that Alec was on the fast track to some sort of governmental security agency before he had somehow found himself on the streets of Rochester. There was no other explanation for him being so disciplined, at home with menial tasks that the son of diplomats would usually never have to worry about.

Blinking his eyes open, Magnus peered at his phone and swore. Loudly.

It was 7 AM.

He was two hours late.

Five hurricane minutes later found Magnus in a forest green hoodie, black sweatpants and bunny slippers, sprinting down the stairs and racing round the corner to the bakery, fumbling the key into the lock, charging his way into the shop and stopping short at the sight of Clary humming and sliding heavenly-smelling banana muffins into the display case.

"How--" he croaked.

"Alec and I just followed your recipes," Clary interrupted him, "and we figured you needed to sleep off your adrenaline rush, so we gave you a break."

Magnus just stared at her. "You got some last night," he said, and she grinned.

"Yeah," she said, flipping her braid and smirking. "Scratched the itch. Felt good." She ran an assessing eye over Magnus and poured him a mug of cinnamon coffee. "You should think about it, too," she said airily, giving him the mug and gently ushering him into the kitchen. He followed her lead woodenly.

"The bakery still stands," he muttered to himself. "Incredible."

Alec looked up from a recipe card and smiled hesitantly when he saw Magnus's bleary form stumble into the kitchen, narrowly missing the table corner but grasping his mug tightly. "I hope you don't mind," the taller man said, gesturing to the mound of perfectly risen dough he had just put on the floured countertop. "I went for my favorites."

"Rugelach?" Magnus inquired, peering into the glass bowl on the opposing counter, sniffing at the chocolate filling and humming (someone had added chili powder, and damn did Magnus approve of that).

Alec nodded. "And I wanted to make the lemon meringue cupcakes, but I'll need your help for that," he said apologetically. "Sorry for--"

"What, asking me to bake in my own kitchen?" Magnus said incredulously. "It's fine. I may be hungover, but I can handle beating eggs."

"We just need you to keep an eye on the mixer, actually," Alec said, rolling out the dough with precise movements. Magnus stared at him, sipping at his coffee, watching Alec's arms flex with the controlled effort of rolling the dough out in an even manner.

Alec was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt, since the kitchen was rather warm from space heaters and the oven. It was the first time Magnus had seen his bare arms, and he couldn't seem to look away.

And not just because of the muscles. Peeking out of the bottom of the sleeves was an intricate pattern of leaves and flames, an incogrous combination that just seemed to work. Magnus would have loved to see the rest of the pattern, but he could hardly ask Alec to pull up his sleeve, could he?

Too bad he wasn't still in the tattoo parlor so he could claim professional interest.

"Magnus?" Alec's voice jerked him out of his reverie. He pulled his gaze away from Alec's forearms reluctantly and looked up at Alec, who had the bowl of chocolate in his hand and had an eyebrow raised at him.

"Oh, right," Magnus said, stepping back so Alec could get to the cake pans behind him and grab a circular one to cut out the dough for the rugelach. "Sorry, I spaced out there for a minute."

Alec hummed and pressed the pan down on the dough, then picked it up and made another impression. "I only tasted rugelach last month," he commented idly, "for the first time. But I haven't had them since."

"You must have lived in the WASPiest neighborhood in New York," Magnus said, moving after Alec with a blunt knife to cut the imprinted circles out of the excess dough. "Because rugelach are everywhere and they are heaven."

"They're like open-faced chocolate croissants."

"But better."

"How so?"

"Well," Magnus said thoughtfully, spooning some warm chocolate onto the prepared circles and spreading it around, "they're smaller, so you can have more than one. And they're not flaky, but crumbly, which goes far better with coffee in my opinion."

Alec hummed again and nodded, collecting the dough edges and turning to the other counter to roll them out again. This time, Magnus was treated to the view of Alec's (rather tight-- wait, wasn't that Simon's t-shirt?) back muscles flex and seem to flow under his shirt as Alec worked.

They worked side by side, comfortable silence interrupted rarely by instructions given by Magnus and murmurs of assent from Alec. After rolling the rugelach (and Magnus reluctantly allowing Alec to add peanut butter to one of the batches of chocolate), Magnus pulled the egg carton over and began seperating them. When he dropped the last egg white into the mixer bowl, a glimmer of last night stole into his consciousness and he snapped his fingers.

"Alec!" he exclaimed, making the other man jump, a lemon and a zester in his hands. "I'm so sorry about how invasive I was last night," he finished guiltily, looking down at the mixing bowl. "And-- did I really just saunter into your room?"

Alec nodded somberly, but the telltale and always-welcome grin was flickering on his face.

Magnus smacked his forehead. "I'm the worst," he said dramatically, and before Alec could say anything, Magnus flicked the mixer on and spent the next 5 minutes exaggerating a fainting maiden miming act, while Alec snickered.

The timer dinged right as he was miming letting down his hair for a prince (played by himself) to climb it. He turned the mixer off and sighed, scraping down the sides of the bowl.

"Don't apologize," Alec said, and Magnus grinned to himself. "You didn't have to apologize before you put the mixer on, either," Alec added, and Magnus paused.

If the past few days have taught him anything, it was that Alec was so much more perceptive than he looked. And as Magnus had learned yesterday, Alec may not be a motormouth, but when he did speak, he put his verbal abilities to good use. By the time Magnus had to leave (mainly because Clary was shooing him out for what he now knew was a booty call), Alec had regaled him with stories of Jace making a fool of himself in front of the music industry's finest (which they met because of Jace's father, who was a big-time music producer who was never around) and one story about Isabelle, who Alec called Izzy, harmlessly wandering into the Oval Office when she was five while the family was on a tour ("she wanted my mom to get the sofa, because the cushions were fun to jump on").

Whenever Alec looked at him, Magnus felt that he was being read. Not in an invasive way, just like... a book. Like Alec was doing his research before he made a move. Any move.  
It was intriguing. It was unnerving. It was making Magnus curious and apprehensive and kind of turned him on too, something that he didn't like thinking about when it came to Alec because he barely knew him. He was just this incredibly good looking homeless guy who he hired (?) a couple of days after he first met him (??) and now Hot Homeless Guy was in his kitchen at 8 AM baking rugelach (???).

And he had given him--

"The blanket wasn't a weird gift, right?" Magnus asked anxiously, turning to face Alec. "I mean, it's practical, but it's weird, I mean, a blanket. What would you do with a blanket?"

"...sleep with it."

Magnus inhaled calmly, said in his head  (and made sure it was only in his head this time) _If that were only a mission statement about me_ , and then said "Right, you make sense" out loud.

Alec snorted. "You know, after Clary's booty call left, she came into my room to apologize," he said, spooning the cupcake batter into the paper liners. Magnus didn't even have to ask for what; Alec's new tiny room also had woefully thin walls, as did the rest of the apartment. He must have heard everything. "She told me you'd be skittish today."

"Skittish? What am I, a cat?!"

Magnus couldn't see his face, but he could imagine Alec smiling as he slid the cupcake trays into the oven.

"She said that the adrenaline rush you get after decorating would 'make him act drunk immediately afterwards, but the hangover is like after ecstasy'," Alec quoted and shrugged. "We decided to help you out a bit today because Clary said you hadn't looked that happy in a while and she wanted to let you sleep in."

"We never dated," Magnus blurted out, staring into the fluffy white cloud of meringue in the bowl. His heart was racing, and he chanced a glance at Alec, who was wearing an unreadable expression as he closed the oven. "Clary and I. We--" He cleared his throat. "I'm not-- she's, well, I'm-- I'm bi. And-- we never dated," he finished lamely.

There was a brief silence in which Magnus wished he was invisible.

And then Alec smiled, a smoother variation on his full-fledged joyous smile.

"Good to know."

And Magnus gripped the bowl harder. 

\---

"C'mon, Simon-- mmf!"

Simon lunged forwards again, mouth finding Raphael's again as he crowded him against the wall of the shop, chasing away the chill. His hands were still in Raphael's coat pockets - half because he forgot his gloves at home and it was fucking freezing outside, and half because the thought of his hands in Raphael's front pockets made him disgustingly gooey inside.

He licked at Raphael's bottom lip, and the other boy groaned, sliding his fingers into Simon's hair. Instead of pulling him forwards, however, he pulled him back a bit, making Simon whine with annoyance.

"Simon," Raphael panted, "we need to get to work."

"But we won't be able to do this at work."

"Rightly so."

"It's not natural. I need your mouth."

Raphael groaned and dropped his forehead onto Simon's shoulder.

"You're the worst, Lewis."

"That's not what you said this morning. With your mouth. And by saying with your mouth, I meant that you liked how I kissed. You would never use your words to compli--"

As disruptive as it was to actually getting them to work on time, Raphael found that stopping Simon mid-rant with a hard, breath-stealing kiss was fast becoming his favorite thing about this new step in their relationship.

Easing Simon's hands out of his pockets, Raphael folded his hand around Simon's and walked into the coffee shop. Clary and Alec were discussing something embarrassing, if to judge by Clary's grin and Alec's blush.

"We're here and we're gay for each other!" Simon announced, throwing their joined hands in the air and grinning crazily.

"And this is him without caffeine," was Raphael's dry comment, but he was smiling too.

Clary held out her arm for a fist-bump from Simon, displaying her sleeve; the color splash background, rendered by Magnus, hosted Clary's precise linear designs, all straight lines and circles, like Gallifreyan, tapering off from shoulder to the back of her hand. Instead of a geometric continuation, however, the lines transformed into roots and reached her fingertips.

Simon dutifully bumped fists, then sniffed the air. "OH HAPPY DAYS!" he sang, and sailed into the kitchen right in time to nearly throw Magnus's hand as he piped the meringe onto the cupcakes.

"Simon, I will _eviscerate_ you," Magnus said through gritted teeth. "And Alec will _help_ me, and he will _do_ it _silently_ because he _knows_ how to be _quiet_." Alec shook his head, but widened his eyes, as if to say _don't tell him_.*

"Calm your tits, Bane, your hand is always steady," Simon waved him off, and turned to Alec. "So how was your first night in a normal bed?" he asked happily.

"Great," Alec said. His eyes flicked over to Magnus and he said, "Cozy."

"My night was great, but it ended too early," Simon gushed. "Raphael slept over, but we didn't, well, and if we did you would have heard it, and Clary was loud enough for--"

"Simon," Magnus drawled, having finished the piping. "Please stop talking."

Simon shut his mouth, nodded, and helped Magnus get the cupcakes into the oven for 5 minutes on very low heat. When the oven door closed again, Simon opened his mouth, and Magnus stuffed a peanut-butter-chocolate rugelach into his mouth.

Simon's face was confused, then his eyes widened and his face settled on blissful. Alec beamed as Simon made several obscene noises. Magnus just sighed and arranged the rugelach on a white platter.

"Keep him," Simon advised him, backing out of the kitchen, then turning and nearly smacking his face into the door - the only thing keeping from it was Raphael standing there, holding it open so that Magnus could pass through with the plate.

"These are new," Magnus said to Clary as he slid the plate into the display case. "Added peanut butter."

"I've been telling you that for years," Clary said, exasperated. "What changed your mind?"

"Alec did it," Magnus admitted. "His methods are kind of unorthodox, but--"

"But then again, what's going on between you is unorthodox too, so it fits?" Clary supplied, a gleam in her eye.

Magnus stared at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish. The gleam morphed into a smirk.

"Nothing is going on between us," Magnus said haughtily, sweeping past her and back into the kitchen.

Clary laughed. "Not yet, anyways!" she called behind her.

The door swung open. She turned around. Magnus smiled angelically and then blew a strangely dignified raspberry at her, then ducked back into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Basically at this point Alec was making this face:
> 
>  
> 
> I don't have a picture of Clary's sleeve, only in my head, but I'll try to find corresponding pictures for it online. Alec's half-sleeves? Well, let's just say that they're themed. And Alec is a huge geek. In a good way.


	7. i like your reckoning but we got our methods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't abandoned this fic I swear! I have an arc in place and I'm gonna finish it. It's just taking me longer now because I started a new job. I know that lots of people don't trust WIPs, and I don't want to contribute to that (because I have a hartd time trusting them, too).
> 
> Slightly shorter than usual, this is just Malec and, well, let's just say you've been waiting for this one. Teehee.
> 
> Title is from Lorde's [White Teeth Teens](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OsarxHEsVIg).

The next week passed by without a hitch. After the first time that Magnus caught them, Simon and Raphael learned that the supply closet wasn't the best place to make out. Maureen stopped teasing them eventually, Clary spent lots of time grinning, and Alec joined Magnus for early morning baking sessions.

The second time he did, he brought his guitar with him. "Haven't played in a while," he said almost shyly, as if the past couple of weeks didn't happen and he was meeting Magnus for the first time over again.

Magnus waved at the sofa in the corner of the kitchen, concentrated on the recipe box. "Feel free," he said absently. "Just don't knock anything over."

Pulling out the oatmeal cookies recipe - today was a back to basics kind of a day - he hummed to himself, hearing the twang of Alec tuning the guitar behind him. Soon enough, he settled back into the rythm of baking, swaying his hips a little to the music that Alec produced.

And with Alec, music was casually played and exactly produced with equal measure. He was a perfectionist, backtracking a few bars every time he made a mistake - which was very rare, and only when Magnus's movements along with the music were closer to dancing. Aside from humming along sometimes, however, Alec didn't sing.

It had been fast, and slightly strange, but Magnus felt like Alec was slipping into his life, like a comfortable constant in the background, one that intrigued him but didn't set him on edge. Like hearing about salted caramel for the first time, Magnus might have been slightly apprehensive at the start, but now, with Alec strumming softly in the background, he felt settled, more sure of his footing.

Maybe it was because Alec didn't know him as well, he mused to himself, kneading the dough for sweet braided rolls on Friday morning. He was completely new. He didn't have any preconcieved notions about his strengths and weaknesses. He was a fresh slate of a man. And, as Alec picked out a slightly familiar melody behind him, the realization that Magnus was attracted to this mystery man quietly and unobtrusively shook off the blanket of denial that Magnus had draped over it.

Fear and excitement climbed his throat, but he kept on kneading, his face not changing. He had been physically attracted to Alec from the moment he had stepped into the shop, but anything beyond had been kiboshed by his lack of will to open up again so quickly, especially to another stranger, and his position of power over Alec. He was his boss, after all, and he didn't want to get emotionally attached to someone who might reciprocate only because he felt like he had to do so in order to keep his job.

But there he was, skin tingling and heart beating just a tad faster, as if he was in high school again, falling in love with every good-looking person that would give him the time of day. But this wasn't Jazz from chemistry class, or Andie from the youth group. This wasn't discovery and excitement, hurried and flash-bang intense. This was a slow, sinuous growth of a feeling, one that was more based on curiousity and unspoken understanding than lust and the thrill of success.

"Alec," Magnus said, voice coming out slightly subdued, as if his mind running a mile a minute had tapped into his vocal energy and left him slightly tired, "would you like to help me braid these?"

"Sure," Alec said, and he joined Magnus at the counter after putting his guitar on the stand he had brought into the kitchen yesterday, and washing his hands at the service sink. Wiping them on a towel, he threw it over his shoulder and started braiding the ropes of dough, weaving them over and under with the same military efficiency he applied to playing his guitar. 

Magnus walked over to the coffee machine and poured himself another cup, setting it down on the counter for a moment so he could close his eyes, breath, and stretch. When he put his elbow near his head and pulled it slightly until he heard a faint click, his shirt rode up. After repeating the action with his other arm, he opened his eyes just in time to catch the tail end of Alec's stare at where his shirt now met the top of his jeans.

Magnus smirked as Alec went back to braiding, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he concentrated even harder. One of the reasons he wasn't flattened by absolute guilt over his crush on Alec, was because he kept on getting signs from the other man that he was interested as well. Between the early morning baking sessions, music, and casual chats about Alec's sister and best friend, Magnus was developing a comfortable rapport with him. He was learning to read Alec, carefully, and if he wasn't grossly misinterpreting the signs, Alec wanted him as well. To some extent, in some way. But he was being careful, and Magnus didn't dare make a move and scare him away. If anything happened, it would have to come from Alec.

His phone rang. Frowning, Magnus looked at the screen and his eyebrows rose. Sliding a finger across the screen, he brought it up to his ear. "Gwen? Why are you awake at 6 AM?"

"Mack had to go back to Iowa today," Gwen said. "Can I come drown my sorrows in coffee and scones?"

"Sure," Magnus said. "Who's holding down the shop, though?"

"I have more staff, dear," she said. "You weren't my last employee."

"I know that," he scoffed. "Come on over, meet the crew." His eyes flicked up and met Alec's curious ones. "See you soon." Hanging up, he expelled a gusty sigh, Alec's eyebrows rising.

"Remember the rushed wedding cake from last week?" he said, and Alec nodded. "That's one of the brides. Or, well, one of the partners. Gwen sort of raised me and taught me how to tattoo and take care of myself. She's also indirectly the reason I started this place."

"I get to hear the origin story?" Alec quipped, a smile on his face as he cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl and beat them lightly with a fork. "Hooray."

"There's not much to tell," Magnus said, hands grasping his mug as he watched Alec's fingers wrap around the pastry brush and apply the egg wash to the braided rolls. "I was a teen thrown around foster homes when she took me in one day and taught me everything I could possibly want to know about body mods. I took to it pretty quickly." He took a sip of coffee, giving himself time to articulate his next thought, and then continued.

"I was a troubled teen. Couldn't find my place anywhere. Gwen showed me a world of art and beauty, of control and image. After a few years of immersion in the field, I grew to love the happiness that I brought people, and not only the art itself."

Alec was listening and working at the same time; he finished brushing the rolls and moved to sprinkle each tray with a different topping. "You bring people happiness here, too," he pointed out, voice quiet.

"I suppose I do," Magnus admitted, "but it's fleeting. I started this place because I wanted to take final control of my life, to have a private haven. I would never have opened the coffee shop if it wasn't for Clary. I would have stayed in this bakery, churning out orders for the rest of time. Minimal contact with the outside world."

"That would have been a shame, though," Alec said, dusting his hands free of sesame seeds onto the first tray. "No coffee shop would have meant that we never would have met."

Magnus's heart stuttered for a moment and all he could do was stare into his nearly-empty mug, which is why he didn't notice Alec approaching him until something solid blocked the flourescent glare of the walk-in fridge on the other side of the room.

Magnus brought his eyes up to meet Alec's. They were stormy but intent, and fixed on Magnus's eyes; they flicked down to Magnus's lips and lingered there long enough for Magnus to grip his mug a bit harder, like an anchor and a shield.

"Alec," Magnus whispered, his cheeks flushing, "can I help you?"

Alec kept looking at him. His eyes were bright, and kept flicking from feature to feature of Magnus's face as if memorizing him, or reading him, or both. "You can," Alec said, and kept studying Magnus.

"How?" Magnus managed (which was a miracle, because he wasn't so sure how he was still breathing relatively evenly).

"I think you know," Alec said, low and smooth with a catch at the end.

Magnus looked at him, pushing past the anticipation and curl of lust in his gut to see the confusion on Alec's face. "Alec," he said gently, "if you want something, tell me."

"Won't that ruin it?" Alec asked, his voice small. Magnus shook his head, the anticipation rushing through his veins as he struggled to keep his cool.

"It won't. It's--" his gaze flicked down to Alec's lips, right as the other man licked them, and his breath caught. "--it's better that both of us know. And want."

Alec nodded, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them, his gaze nearly made Magnus weep. It was naked, open, vulnerable, and a split-second beforeAlec opened his mouth, Magnus realized that this was his first.

"Can I kiss you?" Alec whispered, and Magnus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Alec leaned forward, hands still in his pockets, and pressed his lips to Magnus's. It was chaste and short, but Magnus whimpered all the same, glad that his hands were still gripping the mug, because otherwise holy shit they would be all over Alec like right now.

Alec pulled back, alarmed, but Magnus set down the mug and placed his hand on Alec's shoulder. "That," he said, then cleared his throat, "was a good noise. Don't worry."

"Oh," Alec said, then paused and said, "Could we do it again?"

Magnus stood on his tiptoes, keeping his hand on Alec's shoulder, and slanted his mouth over the other man's lips. This one was soft but not chaste in any way; Magnus swiped his tongue over Alec's bottom lip and the other man made a noise of surprise, that repeated itself softly as Magnus sucked at Alec's bottom lip, and then pulled back.

They said nothing for a few moments, Magnus's hand now using Alec's shoulder as an anchor, and then someone clapped slowly. Magnus turned his head sharply and Gwen grinned like a Chesire cat, opal hair loosely braided down her back.

"Finally!" she announced, and Magnus rolled his eyes, while Alec's face flushed.

"Alec, meet Gwen," Magnus said. "Gwen, meet Alec." Alec nodded once at her, managed a weak grin, and then grabbed the salt and poppy seed shakers from the spice rack behind Magnus as he all but sprinted towards the trays of rolls on the table.

"You have lots to tell me, don't you, Magnus?" Gwen whispered as she passed him to grab a mug.

Magnus nodded, a smile refusing to come off his face as he looked at Alec dusting a tray of rolls with sea salt, his movements slightly jerkier than before. Raising his eyes to Magnus, Alec grinned as well, then looked back down at the tray and cursed - one of the rolls had a little hillock of sea salt on top of it.

Watching Alec clear off the excess salt, Magnus could only smirk with satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you'll like the next chapter. eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I can't wait!


	8. air's getting thin but i'm trying, i'm breathing in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec learns important things. It's a bit heavier than usual, but it's kinda cute.
> 
> Next chapter Izzy and Jace. Commence excitement.
> 
> Title is from Joshua Radin's [The Fear You Won't Fall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIvU1ETg7H8).

"Getting some in the kitchen is so cliche, Mags," Gwen teased him as she poured herself a cup of coffee, the morning sun streaming through the window. "I thought you were classier than that."

"So did I," Magnus said shortly. He was grasping a mug of tea now, unable to trust himself with more caffeine in his bloodstream; he didn't need it anyways, what with the adrenaline rush clouding his veins from the kiss. "And even though it was consensual, it was... Unnerving."

"But not unexpected," Gwen prompted, boosting herself up onto one of the counters and watching Magnus roll up the sleeves of his Henley and start washing the dishes. The water from the cookie sheets splashed over dark, stark words etched onto his skin, ones that Gwen knew well and Magnus wanted to forget.

"He's. Well." Magnus paused for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching around the sponge, before he continued scrubbing with renewed vigor. "He's been making googly eyes at me since day 1," Magnus said offhandedly, but his hunched shoulders said otherwise to Gwen, who prided herself on reading faces (a practice that came in handy when one needed to differentiate between those who were serious about their ink and those who were bound to regret it in a night or two). She knew what it meant when Magnus was attempting to take up less room - it meant he wasn't letting you into everything and was trying to escape the questioning, and at the moment, everything about his body language was wishing to be folded into a tiny box.

"But you didn't do anything to promote it?" Gwen asked after taking a sip of the heavenly coffee. Magnus set the cookie sheets to dry against the wall and turned around, wiping his hands on the towel and looking thoughtful.

"Well," he hedged carefully, not looking at Gwen but a smile blooming across his face all the same, "I didn't do anything to deter him. But," he rushed on, keeping Gwen from calling him out, "yes, I did start... hmm... putting myself out there a bit more, so to speak."

"Yourself, or your shadow?"

Magnus glared at her, then sighed and threw up his hands. "You know me too well," he grumbled. A timer dinged, and he went to the oven, to check on the rolls. They were golden, but the sides were still too white to take them out, so he closed the oven door and turned around. Gwen had moved to stand right behind him, so when he turned she looked up at him and grinned.

"You're very smiley for someone who called me nearly in tears today," he said waspishly, and she shrugged, still grinning.

"I guess I enjoy seeing love stories develop in front of me," she commented idly, pouring out the rest of her coffee and washing out her cup. "Now, you take the rolls out of the oven, and I'll just hang out here a while."

Magnus narrowed his eyes at her. "You're just gonna try and rope Alec into hanging out with you so you can check him out," he half-accused her, and she laughed, a high, clear, unnerving sound coming from a woman with waist-length opal-shaded hair and geometric tattoo sleeves, with Disney princess symbols around her neck.

"Hey," she threw over her shoulder as she sauntered out, "if you know, it ain't going behind your back."

As the door swished closed behind her, Magnus shook his head ruefully and smiled, despite himself. Gwen's disarming flash-quick mood jumps taught him how to adapt to life better than anything else he had been through. She taught him his first craft. She taught him how to live, really. The least he could do was let her investigate the man she had just caught him kissing.

As a peal of Gwen's laughter floated through the doors, Magnus opened the oven door again to peek at the rolls, sighing to himself. So why did it make his stomach tie in knots, just a little bit?

\---

"In the kitchen of that shoebox?" Gwen said incredulously, hand on Clary's shoulder as they both leaned against the back counter. Gwen's other hand was taking coffee bean sacks out of a box on the counter and pushing them towards Clary, who was shelving them artfully.

"Yup," Clary said, a tired smile on her face. She leaned up to put the last sack of beans up, then dusted off her hands and yawned, holding onto Gwen. "Sorry," she said, cracking the joints in her neck and smiling at Gwen, "but you know how the walls are there, and Simon and Raphael were together last night."

Gwen's eyes widened. "Have they even been out on a date yet?"

Clary laughed and shook her head, hands effortlessly measuring out coffee grounds and hitching them onto the espresso machine, sliding a bone china mug under it just in time to catch the twin dark jets of coffee. "They've been pussyfooting around each other for long enough that they could get married tomorrow and it wouldn't surprise me," she said, pulling up a stool and sitting on it, propping her elbow up on the counter and holding her head up to watch the last of the espresso drip into the cup.

"Besides," Clary continued, dropping an ice cube into the cup and stirring it, "it's different here. It's... quiet, uptown. Something about this place almost reminds me of Arizona, sometimes."

"How's your mom?" Gwen asked, and Clary smiled softly.

"She's fine. She just had another show in Phoenix. Her studio is huge, but she has Luke to keep her company next door. I think something's going on between them. She was Skyping with me a few days ago..."

As Clary went on about her landscape-painting mother and her boyfriend, Gwen nibbled at a biscotti she nicked from one of the jars on the counter, looking at the redhead, moving around the serving area, stacking and preparing for the day ahead of them. She prided herself on Clary's sleeves; they were intricate and painful, but she and Clary had spent many a night poring over the design, with Magnus throwing in a suggestion or two, and occasionally throwing a cookie or two at their heads when they got too absorbed in random design ideas.

(Gwen still used some of Clary's sketches in her shop, and Clary got an envelope in the mail every month with varying amounts of money, "call it royalties", that was never unwelcome.)

She saw bits of herself in Clary. Her determination, the compassion, the ability to juggle the lemons life threw at you and make them into exceptional minty lemonade. When Magnus took a shine to her, Gwen took a step back and watched them blossom into fast friends, and then business partners, with a bittersweet happiness that wasn't entirely unfamiliar to her.

"So, tell me about you, Clary," Gwen urged her, grabbing a spray bottle and cleaner, rounding the counter edge to wipe down the glass display cases from smudged fingerprints. "How's your love life?"

Clary shrugged. "Same old, same old," she said. "Not much love, but I can take care of myself."

"I don't doubt that, dear," Gwen said, spraying and wiping methodically. She peered over at the stage, where Alec was bent over his guitar, tuning it, and turned back to Clary, jerking her head towards the stage. "But can they take care of each other?"

Clary looked over at Alec, looked back at Gwen, bewildered, and then looked back at Alec. She crossed her hands on her chest, staring at him for a bit, then turned back to Gwen with a wicked grin on her face.

"Go Alec," she said under her breath. And then, after a brief few moments, she nodded. "I think they're great together," she said, grin softening and staying on her face. "In the kitchen, they come up with genius combos. And Magnus seems to be coming back to himself again after Elias."

Gwen raised her eyebrows. She had been here for the fallout, holding up the bakery's administration while Mack helped Clary out back and Simon zipped around the city, promoting the shop and bakery to anyone he could reach, hiding flyers in library books in the university (which is how they got Raphael) and sliding them under office doors and into mailboxes.

("These calves are from the extensive biking I did those couple of months," Simon once boasted to Raphael, bending down to pick up a dropped milk carton, and Raphael, needless to say, wasn't looking at Simon's calves.)

Magnus had slowly come back out of his shutdown. No one babied him, but until he snuck into the office one night to check on the books, no one forced him to do anything. He was scarred and bleeding from the number Elias did on them, and Gwen had learned the hard way that pressuring Magnus into anything was like trying to catch a greased eggplant: if you tried too hard, it slipped away.

Magnus had gotten back onto his feet, but something about him was on the wrong side of cautious, abandoning his usual meticulous careful attitude towards business in favor of suspicion. Clary had stopped him a hair before fingerprinting all employees, but for the past year, he had been a spartan version of his former self.

The fact that he had agreed to do the cake spontaneously, and that he had a delicate gold chain around his neck when she slipped into the kitchen and saw him falling into the tall man's eyes (and he was falling for someone again), were promising signs. Ones that settled and unsettled her with equal measure.

"That's... good," Gwen said, rag lingering on the last display case as she considered Alec. He looked flushed, tripping over some practice notes and muttering under his breath. "Clary," she said, putting the spray bottle and rag down on the counter, "does Alec need to work now?"

"No, he usually busses tables and no one's in yet," Clary said. "Why?"

"I think I need to have a sit down with him," Gwen said. Her mind was rushing with possibilities and things to say, and she knew that she had to say something to him, because in the last few times Gwen had glanced at him while she was talking to Clary, he was staring at the door wide-eyed, or staring out the window. She could recognize the look of someone who was about to run from a mile away.

Clary smiled. "Then he's in good hands." She leaned over the counter and kissed Gwen's cheek. "Good luck, Burr," she said, hopping back and grabbing the bottle and rag off the counter, stowing them away and out of sight. "I'll go help Magnus out with the rolls."

\---

Alex stared at his fingers on the strings. He didn't feel numb so much as he felt like he was about to pass out. 

He might have flown across the ocean to run away from home, but this scared him more. The feel of Magnus's lips against him, the way the whimper vibrated against his lips even though he thought it was cliche that people felt things like that, the split second between seeing Magnus's eyes flutter closed and the moment their lips met - those were uncharted territory. Tapping the 'confirm' button and buying a plane ticket was sure, it was grounded in reality and economy and people moving from place to place. The only thing that kiss had done to him was make his breath patterns skitter all over the place, like spilled coffee beans, and he was scrambling to collect them, but every time he thought about how Magnus had licked his lips, they spilled back out of his hands.

He could tune the guitar. Yes. He had that down to a method, just like sparring with Jace and (swallowing the fear that rose suddenly) facing his parents. He didn't need his concentration, really.

He did, but he could do without it for a moment. Because it had given up on the coffee beans and was currently looking for a way around them, so he could get out without slipping on them.

"Alec, right?"

He jerked his head up. The woman from before was standing in front of him, hands shoved into her front pockets and liquid chocolate eyes trained on him. She eyed his guitar appreciatively, then looked back up at him. "D'you have a minute to talk?"

A swooping feeling of something unnamed and horrible crested within Alec and climbed up his throat, and he nodded. Putting the guitar down on the stage, he hopped off and followed her to a corner table, body getting slightly number with every step he took. By the time he sat down in the squashy armchair, the only thing he could feel was his heart beating against his ribs and his breathing, which sounded unnaturally loud.

"First of all," she said, "calm down. You look like you're about to faint."

Alec smiled shakily; the numbness eased down a bit, but that allowed a blush to cover his face.

"Second," she continued, and here her expression softened, "my name is Gwen, and you don't have to be afraid of whatever is going through your head right now."

"I knew that," Alec said. "Well, your name. And the, uh, the other-- wait, why. Uhm. Why not?"

He stopped talking and looked down into his lap; his hands were gripping his knees, the knuckles white. He relaxed his grasp but kept his eyes down.

"Because developing feelings for someone is putting your soul in their hands."

He looked up at her and said the first thing that came to his mind. "That seems a bit extreme."

She shook her head and smiled, a bittersweet one. "It isn't," she said. "Different people will tell you different things because they don't want to admit that it hits them, too. Feeling attached to someone else is ripping out a bit of your independence and your own agency and placing it in someone else's hands. The pain doubles - you've removed a bit of yourself, so the vacuum hurts; and if the other person's hands aren't extended, or if they mistreat you, it hurts again."

Alec couldn't look away. He swallowed a lump in his throat. The silence, punctuated by soft clinking noises from the counter as Clary prepared for the day, felt like it was pressing down on him.

"Don't be scared of it, Alec," Gwen said, leaning towards him, earnest. "If you never connect with anyone for fear of getting hurt, your soul gets too heavy to bear." She leaned back, hands on the arms of her armchair, fingers tapping restlessly, chewing her lip. She looked at him, calculating, and said in an offhand voice, "Look at Magnus."

"What?" Alec croaked, finding his voice after what felt like a century.

"He gave you a bit of his soul, too."

Alec stared at her, eyes wide. "No," he said finally, roughly. "I don't think--"

"The minute he hired you," Gwen interrupted him, "he gave you a bit of him, which is something he hadn't done in a while. Did anyone tell you about Elias?"

"Raphael once grumbled that he was the reason we were still open 7 days a week," Alec said. "But who--"

"Magnus let him play in here one night," Gwen said, and a chill ran down Alec's spine, making him straighten up. "A week later, they were in bed already, and a week after that, Elias had moved in. Magnus fell for him, and made his move, and Elias hooked him. Which is why, when he made off with the business's savings and left no trace, it hit us all even harder."

"I'm not going to steal his money," Alec started hotly, but Gwen interrupted him again.

"I don't think you will, and if you wanted to you wouldn't be able to," she said, her eyes glinting for a brief moment. "I'm telling you this because that was about a year ago, and Magnus hasn't opened himself up to anyone since then. You're the first chance he took since then."

"Are you trying to warn me?" he said thickly, fighting past the fear that still clogged his throat. "Because trust me, I'm scaring myself enough."

"Why?"

Alec stared at her. "What?"

"Why are you scaring yourself?"

He choked out a laugh. "Because-- why would he want me? How am I worthy of holding that bit of his soul? What qualifies me? I don't know _how_ , I don't know what to _do_ \--"

"No one is born knowing how to love someone. You learn as you go. Love him like you learn, because you have to learn him." She shrugged. "That's the best advice I can give you, but I think it's pretty solid, since it worked for me."

"That's a pretty poor sampling size," Alec muttered, but his mouth curved into a smile.

"And the only reason I just gave you this deep-ass advice," Gwen said, settling back into her armchair again, "is because I pretty much raised Magnus and he deserves someone like you."

"A runaway who freaks out at the first kiss?" Alec inquired. Gwen's eyebrows raised and she laughed, then shook her head.

"No, a man who's willing to learn. A man who has patience. A man who can fix, and one who needs some fixing." She whistled low and long. "And someone with your ass, that's for sure."

Alec blushed again, and she shook her head, grinning.

"Don't worry, I have my own partner," she said, tapping her plain gold wedding ring. "I just call it like I see it."

"Gwen, why must you proposition Alec?"

Alec spun around and saw Magnus standing there, with a hand on his hip and the other one holding a plate of scones. His hair was flecked with flour (and out of its beanie), and he looked tense.

His eyes met Alec's for a brief moment; they both blushed and looked away. Gwen rolled her eyes, harrumphed, and stood up, snatching the plate of scones away from Magnus.

"Use your mouth-words, boys," she said, and marched over to the counter to greet Simon, who had just sailed in on a blast of cold air and was looking at Magnus and Alec curiously.

"Mouth words?" Alec said, and Magnus snorted. "Welcome to Gwen's world," he said.

Alec stood up, and Magnus moved aside, eyes shuttering as he did so, but Alec grabbed his shoulder. "No," he said, and Magnus relaxed, just a little bit.

"This..." Alec started nervously, "this is new to me. So let's just... go slow, I guess?"

"You don't regret it?" Magnus said, searching Alec's eyes. Alec shook his head.

"No," he said. "It was scary, and I'm still shocked I did it, but I don't regret it."

Magnus's eyes softened. He took Alec's hand off his shoulder and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles delicately. Alec felt as if all his breath had escaped him at once.

"Neither do I, Alec," Magnus said. "Neither do--"

A mug crashed to the floor; the men spun around just in time to see Gwen double up with laughter while Clary yelled "SIMON WAY TO RUIN THE MOMENT" at a cowering head of curls behind the counter.

"Back to real life, then?" Magnus asked, and Alec realized that he was still holding his hand.

"Yeah," he said, and he smiled. "As real as it can be."

"Trust me, Alec," Magnus said, "washing up from scones is as real as it gets."


	9. wear your heart on your cheek but never on your sleeve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get an extra-long chapter this time because I was inspired by the snow.
> 
> Maybe I should write these chapters during the week as well so that I have time to write proper smut scenes... oh well. I'll try for next week.
> 
> Song is Marina and the Diamonds' [This Is How To Be A Heartbreaker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKNcuTWzTVw).

Clary had opened a staff group chat a few years ago "for work-related messages only", and after the first few barrages of baking memes (which, by the way, where did Simon find them? Was there an archive of them somewhere? A Tumblr blog devoted to pithy quotes about doughnuts, perhaps?), Magnus sighed and hit "Mute" on the group, only visiting it a few times a month to clear out the annoying red message number bubble that constantly irked him.

It was all part of having an annoyingly young staff, and a far too lenient business partner.

This morning, however, when he rolled over to turn his alarm off and get out of bed, a blast of cold air greeted his feet. He grumbled, drawing them under the down comforter, and grabbed his phone, flicking it on.

Fifty-seven new messages. He groaned. Raphael must have goaded Simon into a meme fight with Maureen. Tapping on the conversation, he paused; a new number had been added to the group, one who wasn't saved in his phone, and judging by the explanation of inside jokes of the group offered dryly by Raphael, the number belonged to Alec.

"When did he get a phone?" Magnus muttered, even as he was saving Alec's number. His thumb hovered over the message button, then tapped it decisively.

Magnus snorted to himself. He was doing things decisively now. Like tapping touch screens. Like he should be nervous. About texting Alec. Who he had been blushing at for the past couple of days, stealing the occasional kiss.

Like he was in high school.

And now he was texting him.

M: The Reeses Rugelach are selling out like mad. I'm almost convinced we should make them a regular item.

He tapped send, rolled over, and was met with pure white. He blinked, remembered he was staring at his window, and swore under his breath, curling even further into the blanket. All he wanted was to cuddle the comforter and purr to himself. Eyes closing, he pictured ink-black hair falling over a forehead and stormy green-blue-hazel eyes--

And then he groaned as his phone buzzed at him. "Whyyyyy," he complained as he begrudgingly opened his eyes and checked the phone.

A: Ah, but it's a secret recipe.

M: What's so secret about chocolate and peanut butter?

But now that he was texting Alec, the number of messages waiting for his attention kept nagging at the corner of his eye, so he tapped into the coffee shop group chat.

It was a shitstorm. Mostly Raphael complaning that he can't get to work today and Clary sending him pictures of hot cocoa (Raphael's weakness).

R: But it's snowing outside and my apartment's so far away

S: True, let him go, Clary

C: MAUREEN JUST TEXTED ME SHE ISN'T COMING IN SO YOU ARE, RAPHAEL

R: No can do

S: it's his day off let him go

C: NO

R: Why am I still working at your place tho

C: Because we're awesome and rarely judge you

M: I beg to differ

Magnus smirked to himself, floating on the clouds of smugness to the shower, knowing that the shock of him actually joining in would render them speechless for a few minutes. When he got out of the shower, wrapped in his softest hoodie and a pair of jeans, his phone's notification light was indeed blinking. But it wasn't from the group chat.

A: Don't sass my recipe, Mags.

Magnus snorted; he couldn't help himself. Flicking his kettle on, he rifled through his cabinet for his huge mug. When he found it, he set it down on the counter and padded over to his pantry, texting as he went.

M: You've been spending too much time with Gwen lately.

A: Not a bad thing.

Grinning at his phone, Magnus grabbed a random bag of tea leaves and went back to the kettle. Soon enough, his Crowley tea was steeping as he rushed around the house, shoving his feet into socks and his arms into a nice and comfy down coat, as if he was going to trek across the city and not spend no more than 2 minutes out in the cold as he fumbled with keys to the shop.

When he was bundled, he picked up his mug, shoved his phone into his pocket, and took his keys. Reaching the door, he spared a look behind him for his apartment, full of windows and whimsy and barely any food (he ate and cooked downstairs, mostly). It was him, but it felt empty.

Trodding down the stairs, he hissed at the initial slap of wind on his face. It was snowing, but it wasn't a storm just yet. People would be in a romantic mood, and he made a mental note to make wintery bakes for today. Also, to check up on marshmallow stocks. Also, to start prepping for Christmas. Which was only a week away.

Grrr.

When he rounded the corner to the shopfront, he saw a tall figure huddled against the doo in an impossibly thin jacket, especially for this kind of weather. It was obviously Alec, and as Magnus hurried towards him, tea sloshing over the edge of his mug, his mothering instinct kicked in.

"Take this," he instructed him, thrusting the mug towards Alec's side. Alec turned his head, looked down, and hesitated, hands under his armpits to keep them warm. Magnus nudged him, sure to let the ceramic side touch Alec's side; he obviously felt the heat through his jacket, since his hands shot down and grabbed the mug, moaning at the contact.

Magnus would have jumped him then and there, but he was busy hastily unlocking the shop door. When he finally got the lock turned, he pushed the door open and practically threw Alec in, spilling half the tea in the process. Alec, however, was so chilled that he barely noticed it.

"What were you thinking, Alec?" Magnus shouted at him, once he closed the door behind him and flicked on the lights. Alec blinked slowly, taking everything in, looking too similar to how he looked when he first came into the coffee shop - lost.

Magnus didn't like it one bit.

So he took Alec by the elbow, led him into the bakery, flicked the lights on in there, and put him onto the sofa in the corner, disappearing into the supply closet for a brief moment and reappearing with a fuzzy blanket. Alec was still grasping the quickly-cooling half-full mug of tea, but his eyes were closed and just as Magnus shook out the blanket in front of him, he yawned hugely.

Magnus covered him with the blanket, dropping a kiss into his mussed hair and tucking Alec into the corner of the couch, until he looked like a sleepy pillow with a head. Then Magnus sat on the couch and nudged Alec until the taller man begrudingly handed over the mug.

Magnus caught Alec's icy hands between his own. "Alec," he asked forcefully, tugging his hands slightly to catch Alec's skittish gaze, "why didn't you borrow a coat from Simon?"

Alec muttered something, and Magnus leaned in to hear him. "He was busy with Raphael."

"You don't like asking for help, do you?" Magnus sighed, briskly rubbing the warmth back into Alec's hands. Alec didn't respond, but his clenched jaw told Magnus everything he wanted to know.

"If you sigh one more time, Magnus," Alec interrupted him mid-sigh, "I'm going to--"

"Do what?" Magnus gently teased him, affection nudging aside the anger inside him.

Alec's eyes glinted, and he was about to answer when their phones beeped. Magnus went for his, and Alec put his hands under the blanket and curled into the warmth.

S: Who is this mythical beast

C: It's your boss, dipshit

R: Hey, don't call him dipshit

C: i greW UP WITH HIM I CAN CALL HIM WHATEVER I WANT

M: Raphael, you're coming in today

R: Excuse me I have rights

C: And we have Simon

R: So do I

M: In bed with you right now

S: WTF HOW DO YOU KNOW

M: Alec's here with me right now, and he nearly froze himself dead b/c he doesn't have gear.

R: Clary you're so busted

M: Speak for yourself, Santiago

S: yeah!

M: Simon don't kiss my ass, save it for Raphael. Besides, it's a snow day

R: What am I still doing in bed

R: I'll be there in an hour

Magnus smirked, locking his phone and feeling warm. His staff loved the snow days; they were right next to a park, and people who ventured into their shop on such a day were the kind who built snowmen and made snow angels, not grumpy work people who couldn't stand the slush.

Making a mental note to remind Raphael to put out the towels and blankets they reserved for such weather, Magnus turned to Alec, only to find him nuzzled into his side, nodding off. "Alec," Magnus said, and Alec squirmed a bit, lodging himself even more securely into the sofa and closer to Magnus.

"Alec," Magnus tried again, and Alec made a noise in his throat that could be considered a purr but Magnus refused to call it that because then he wouldn't be able to say what he was about to say, "Alec, I need to go bake."

Alec picked up his head off of Magnus's shoulder. His eyes were clouded with sleep, his hair was tousled, and his lips were covered by Magnus's within seconds, because Magnus is a weak man who can't control himself sometimes.

His hand cupped Alec's cheek as he swiped his tongue against Alec's lips, smiling into the kiss when Alec opened his mouth with a sigh. Something about how responsive Alec was broke Magnus's heart just a little bit every time. It was like he was letting himself fall into experiences that he never allowed himself in the past, or maybe never knew, and then Magnus's mind was wiped blank as soon as Alec's tongue met his.

Magnus whined in the back of his throat, and Alec, who had learned that Magnus whining during their kisses was a good thing and him pulling away because of it was a bad thing, licked at Magnus's top lip, curious.

Magnus pulled away with a gasp, still holding a now-confused Alec's cheek. "Alec, I--"

And Alec dived back in, swallowing the rest of Magnus's sentence and biting down on the older man's bottom lip, eliciting a moan.

Instead of escalating it, however, he pulled away. Magnus's eyes fluttered open; they were clouded with lust and amusement and something softer than the blanket that was warming Alec but infinitely more dangerous. "Thank you," he said, "and that's also not fair."

Alec smiled, and Magnus groaned, dropping his forehead onto Alec's shoulder. "Your smile isn't fair, either," he said, muffled by the blanket, and felt Alec turn his head slightly and kiss the outer shell of his ear.

"THAT'S IT," Magnus yelled, and he jumped up and away from Alec, who was smirking with one edge of his mouth, his eyes dancing and his lips even redder than before. "I NEED TO START WORKING AND YOU'RE DISTRACTING ME."

"Gimme a few minutes and I'll help you out," Alec said, stretching out on the couch and yawning again. "Raphael and Simon were being obnoxiously loud yesterday, so I didn't get much sleep."

"Get some rest now," Magnus called from the other side of the room, where he was trying to distract himself from images of a prone, relaxed Alec by putting up an indecently strong pot of coffee. "Snow days are fun, but busy. We'll need all hands on deck."

"Are you the deck?"

Magnus rolled his eyes, grabbing the recipe box. "You know," he said as he riffled through the recipes, fingers pausing to flick out the recipe cards for gingersnap cookies and coffee muffins, "for a virgin, you have pretty bawdy humor."

"Jace taught me all I know," Alec said sleepily.

Magnus raised an eyebrow. "Including the kissing?"

A snort was his only reply, and he filed it away as something to investigate later, when he was more awake and less turned on.

\---

Morning came and went. Raphael indeed came in early, and was tasked with prepping the coffee shop for a classic snow day. Simon came in a couple of hours later, and was sent by Clary to buy all the mini marshmallows he could find, because they were out, "and if SOMEONE wanted Hot Diggity Chocolate on the menu he should make sure we have all the STUFF!"

Magnus, who was stacking the second box of cooled gingersnaps next to the cash register so that they would be easily accessible when they ran out (and they ran out like crazy, this close to Christmas and on a snow day besides), raised an eyebrow at her. "Did he keep you up as well?" he asked.

"It's like they're trying to drill a hole through the wall with the headboard," she groaned, sitting on a stool and slumping down. She looked exhausted, but Magnus couldn't just let it go like that.

"Well, something's getting drilled in that apartment, all right," he said smugly, and squaked as he ducked Clary's fist, which hit the stack of paper cups behind him and toppled the column onto the top of the espresso machine.

"I'll clean it up," Magnus said meekly to a livid Clary, who looked like an angel of vengance standing over him. "But you can't stand over me like that because I can't reach the top of the machine while I'm cowering in fear."

\---

"Clary, did you close the window in the living room before you left?"

"I didn't want to touch it in case you had sex on it last night, and I had no time to disinfect it."

Magnus rolled his eyes. A line of people waiting for their hot drinks, Frank Sinatra happily belting out winter melodies over the sound system, the third batch of pumpkin empanadas was in the oven, and Clary and Simon were bickering, again.

"Besides," Clary said, arms crossed, "you were the last one to leave the apartment. So you should have checked."

"Do you guys mind?" Magnus said testily, reaching between them to hand a harried-looking mother a cardboard holder with a cup of coffee and two cups of hot cocoa for her rambunctionous children. "There's a line."

"Oh, I don't mind," the young woman next in line said with a shy smile. "I'm getting ideas for a screenplay."

Magnus snorted. "Don't give him any more reasons to preen," he said, jerking his head towards Simon, who was doing just that. "Clary," he said, turning to the fire-haired woman with a sigh, "I need to go back to the baking. Can you hold down the fort here in between your bickering?"

Clary smirked, and Magnus sighed, turning to the young woman, who blinked at him with a small smile playing around the edges of her mouth. "Your drink is on me." He waved his hand vaguely towards his staff. "They're usually better behaved."

The woman smiled, widely, and her blue eyes sparkled. "Any better than that--"

Magnus whirled around to find Raphael biting Simon's bottom lip aggresively. "I SWEAR I WILL SPRAY YOU WITH COLD WATER," Magnus said loudly, and stalked back into the bakery.

Clary smacked Simon, and then turned to the woman who was giggling to herself. "What'll you have?" she asked brightly, albeit slightly bitterly. "You're really patient, kudos." Behind Clary, Simon scowled and Raphael rolled his eyes, grabbing a bin so he could go clear off tables (his penalty for trying to get out of work today).

"Thanks! I'll have a Chilean hot chocolate with a shot of whiskey, please."

Simon moved to the hot plate where pots of hot chocolate were steaming away merrily, and ladled the spicy concoction into a glass beer stein with a sullen air. Clary took the mug from him with a sniff, added the whiskey, and piled whipped cream on top, sprinkling it with some cinmmaon. "There you go," she said brightly, and the girl thanked her again, going over to the sofa facing the door so she could people-watch.

Clary turned to the next customer with a grin - that morphed into a smile, because if angels were human, he would be one. The man standing before her was blond, muscular, tall, with a tattoo creeping up his neck and blue eyes-- wait, they weren't entirely blue. One was--

Someone cleared their throat, and Clary shook herself and focused. The woman with him (because of course he would have a woman with him) raised a perfect eyebrow, and her red lips curled into a smile that Clary couldn't read but it scared her, and ordered 2 hot chocolates. When they got them, the woman paid, and slipped a ten dollar bill into the tip jar with a wink at Clary that left her slightly breathless.

"Welcome to the club, Clary," Simon said, clapping her on the shoulder and making her jump. She turned to him and raised an eyebrow, and he smirked. "The bi one, that is. It was smoother in my head, I'll admit."

She rolled her eyes and stomped into the kitchen to get the next tray of pumpkin empanadas, interrupting Magnus and Alec mid-makeout session. "Oh, just go on," she said grumpily, grabbing the basket and marching out. "Everyone else is getting some besides me anyways."

\---

Night gathered on the city. With a heavy sigh, Clary flipped the last chair and took off her apron. "Magnus," she called, "I'm leaving," and like that, she was out.

Magnus came out of the kitchen to a ringing silence. It was like a sudden calm after a marshmallow-fueled, chocolate-driven storm. The floor was washed, the cups were stacked, the garbage was out, and the money was safely tucked away. Alec was finishing up the dishes in the kitchen.

He blinked, suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn't eaten lunch. Alec munched on empanadas, but Magnus didn't like eating his own creations just like that. He usually had some soup for lunch, but he was so busy that he must have forgotten.

He slipped into a sofa, and blinked. "A man cannot function on coffee alone," he muttered to himself as the lights flicked off in the bakery and Alec came through the doors, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Magnus, I--" He paused as he looked at the exhausted man curling into the sofa. "Well," he said decisively, "at least I don't have to feel guilty about being mothered this morning," and Magnus found himself being pulled up by Alec out of the sofa.

"What--" he protested weakly, but Alec ignored him, shoving a hand into Magnus's jean pocket. Magnus's eyes widened, but before he could crack a remark, Alec retreived the shop keys and grinned triumphantly.

"Come with me," he said, and Magnus obeyed. Alec exited the shop, locked up behind them, then tucked the key into his own pocket, shivered in the freezing night air, and--

"OH MY GOD ALEXANDER WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Alec grinned at Magnus, who he had picked up and was carrying fireman-style up the stairs to his apartment. "Getting you home safely," he said, and, ignoring Magnus's protests, unlocked the door, entered Magnus's apartment, and shut the door behind him.

"Put me down or I'll fire you," Magnus said, and Alec complied, settling him down gently. Magnus straightened his sweatshirt, attempting to glare at Alec, but then he realized that the lights were off. He flicked them on and winced; this was the first time in a long time that he had brought someone back up here, let alone someone he made out with in his bakery, and a curl of panic started forming in his gut.

"You need to eat and sleep," Alec said. "Go change into pajamas, I'll make mac and cheese."

"You don't want to watch?" Magnus teased, and Alec paused on his way to the kitchen. Magnus realized what he said and was about to apologize, the curl of panic unfurling, when Alec turned his head and grinned.

"Maybe next time."

Had Magnus already mentioned that he was fucked?

\---

Clary paced nervously in front of the motel door. It was a relatively classy motel, but it was still a _motel_ and Clary didn't usually _do this_ but it was too serendipitous to pass up.

She was in the living room of her apartment, trying to ignore yet another night of sex sounds from Simon's room, browsing Tinder, when the guy from the coffee shop showed up. She immediately swiped right, and so did he, and here she was.

He was edgy, and quite arrogant, but the night was young and he was hot.

The door opened, and Clary stopped pacing. The man - he said his name was Jace - was standing there, _shirtless_ and grinning. "Are you coming?"

"I should hope so," she said, and jumped him. He barely managed to close the door before he stumbled back, hands going to her waist as she attacked his mouth with hers.

"Woah there, spidermonkey--"

"No Twilight references," she said, breathless, and pulled off her top. "Now get out of those pants."

"Yes ma'am," he said, and shucked his pants by the bed.

\---

An hour later, Clary exited the motel room with a satisfied grin on her face.

The itch had been scratched, and how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers will be resolved, I swear!
> 
> Also, [there's a playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLK6MhAk0XSRYmjOIzU3o1bKI2aBpLjWvF) of all the songs from the chapter titles and the fic title. Enjoy!


	10. i guess it just suggests that this is just what happiness is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS WHAT'S THIS A SURPRISE CHAPTER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WEEK.
> 
> You're welcome.
> 
> Title is from Jason Mraz's [A Beautiful Mess](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VD9iDZHrQjw). I suggest that you click through to the clip because it's divine and will make you fall in love with Jason because he's divine. (Also, this massive fucking cinnamon roll bought an avocado ranch in Northern California with his money from his records. I KNOW RIGHT? CINNAMON ROLL.)
> 
> Forgive me for any mistakes - this one was a speed job. All feelings not discussed this chapter will be addressed in the next one. And next one, we will most DEFINITELY be meeting Jace and Izzy, who we met last chapter, but next one Alec will meet them oh my god Gabi stop spoiling your own fic.
> 
> Ahem.
> 
> Enjoy!

Magnus usually woke up with a headache that disappeared as he started his routine. Lack of sleep combined with worry over the business and the fact that he barely got out anymore made for an unhealthy sleep cycle.

Also, growing up in foster homes made you a light sleeper, ready to spring awake and catch someone trying to pull the proverbial wool over your eyes. Some kids had it lucky, and could sleep easy, but Magnus never did. So he slept light, and he slept little, and he relaxed when he baked.

Which is why, when he opened his eyes the next morning at 4:30 AM, half an hour before his alarm clock, and found himself in Alec's arms, in his own bed, he was confused.

At first, he was confused that he had no headache. He woke up as if he had just slept the exact amount of time he needed (which was a damn lie).

And then he was confused, and alarmed, that he was in Alec's arms. Not in his arms, per se; Alec was on his back, sound asleep, and Magnus was draped across Alec's upper torso, head right over his heart. Alec's hand was on Magnus's shoulder, the unconsciousness of sleep making it dead weight.

Magnus blinked. He didn't want to move, just in case it ruined the magic of being held again, but all he could see was Alec's other hand, loose on the pillow, and it was bare. Judging by what he felt under his cheek, so was Alec's chest.

Besides the basic, almost banal lust, and desire to see Alec's tattoos, Magnus felt... tenderness. It was quiet outside, and white and cold; it was warm inside, under the blanket; he was...

Safe.

It struck him and he sucked in a gasp, which he let out hurriedly when he realized how much noise he had made.

He felt safe. He hadn't felt this safe in so long. Ever. Well, maybe when Gwen taught him krav maga. But he had felt a bright, vicious sort of safety, the same kind you would feel when you step out of the cold into a warm building.

This safety was... comfort.

Magnus blinked, and Alec shifted under him, but didn't wake up.

What a picture he must make. Lying wide awake, thinking and blinking, on the chest of a man he was falling for, who was fast asleep.

Wait.

He was falling for him.

Magnus sighed and closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling of guilt and inadequacy wash over him. How he didn't deserve someone like Alec, how he couldn't trust him. He barely knew him.

But nothing came. Instead, Magnus took a deep breath, mouth closed, drinking in Alec's scent. Under the layers of bakery, Alec smelled like perpetual petrichor; like a fresh fall of rain, sun-warmed. Something clean, something new, something painfully innocent.

And, as Alec shifted more seriously and Magnus sat up, something awake.

They sat up in bed, looking at each other, an ocean of blankets between them. Magnus couldn't imagine how he looked, with his hair sticking every which way, but Alec, eyes sleepy and hair mussed, looked so calm that Magnus actually felt the prickles in his ears that meant that he was tearing up.

Alec noticed it, of course, and without saying anything, shifted closer to Magnus and waited until the first tear spilled to wipe it off with his thumb. His eyes were hooded, and his movements were inexorably gentle, and Magnus had to go and ruin it.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he whispered, smiling even as tears slid down his face. Alec's eyes widened, and he pulled Magnus in for a hug, enveloping him in his arms as Magnus let the tears silently slide down his cheeks. He clutched weakly at the blankets around him, not trusting himself to do anything but mourn for the lost time, for the months and years he could have been living and loving instead of defending himself from the world.

Alec didn't say anything, and neither did Magnus. At a certain point, when Magnus could control his emotions and stop the tears, he said, muffled by Alec's shoulder, "I don't know how to pull out of this without headbutting your jaw."

Alec huffed out a laugh and let go, and they were back on their respective sides of the Blanket Ocean. Magnus looked down at his hands, fumbling with the blankets.

"I trust you," they said in unison, raising their heads. Staring at each other, Magnus was the first to speak.

"I haven't slept with someone else in the bed for a while," he said slowly. "I haven't trusted anyone enough. I haven't... cared for anyone. Enough." He looked back down at the blanket. "But I care for you and it scares me."

"You're the first person I've cared for in this way," Alec said, and he shifted into the sea, closer to Magnus. "I ran away from people who thought I was wrong. But I think I'm right." He shrugged. "About this, anyways."

Magnus smiled. "And your mac and cheese recipe."

Alec grinned. "Yeah."

There was a brief moment of silence, and then--

"Sorry," Magnus said, "but I have to kiss you now. I want to. Can I?"

Alec looked at him, and Magnus looked back, and between their eyes was the unspoken truth that, as high school as it may be, them being topless in a bed they shared for the night was far, far more serious than in the kitchen. They were crossing a line here, a marker of sorts.

Magnus leamed forwards and slid his lips over Alec's, licking slowly into his mouth, hand on Alec's shoulder to anchor himself to reality (and to keep from overbalancing). Alec whimpered as Magnus explored his mouth, gently, softly, as if within a dream, arms behind him on the bed to balance himself as well.

After what seemed like an eternity, Magnus pulled back. "Wow."

Alec nodded.

"Well," Magnus said unsteadily, moving off the bed and standing next to it, looking everywhere but at Alec, "I'm gonna go shower."

And then his gaze fixed on Alec, and he smiled, slow and wide. "You're welcome to join me."

\---

Alec sat there, dumbfounded, as Magnus walked away from the bed. His movements were languid, as if he had just come off practicing on the bar, but Alec knew - or could hazard a pretty safe guess - that it was because of their new... thing. Relationship.

Alec tended to grow attached to people quickly, and even more so when they were funny or good looking or both. But what he had with Magnus was far beyond the boyhood crush on Jace. What he had here was a deep sense of... calm. Of trust. Of knowing that he kept his word and never tried to pull one over him.

So if he invited him into the shower, he meant it.

Alec swung his legs out of the bed and over the side, hesitating for a moment, a blush already creeping up his cheeks as he imagined what might happen there. But then he heard the shower start up, and he jerked into motion, padding across the loft apartment to the bathroom door, which was left ajar.

He stepped in and, at loss for a more sophisticated way to do so, cleared his throat.

Magnus peeked out the side of the shower, hair wet and face surprised. "I didn't think you'd follow me."

"Do you want--"

"You to come in?" Magnus cut him off, his eyes honest and just a little bit bright. "Of course. If you want to."

Alec nodded, once, and shucked his pajama pants.

"Usually," Magnus commented with a suddenly hoarse voice, "there's foreplay, but that can happen in here."

Alec stepped into the shower and faced Magnus, the blush covering his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. Magnus smiled and kissed him under the spray, hands starting at his shoulders but sliding down to his hips.

"Don't be nervous, Alec," Magnus murmured. "We won't do anything you don't want to do."

Alec shook his head. "I'm not nervous about that. I'm just-- I don't know how--"

Magnus silenced him with a kiss, this one hard and hot, and Alec found himself gasping after it. Water sluiced down their shoulders, over them.

Magnus fiddled with something between them. Looking down, Alec saw a bottle of shampoo being snapped closed. He held out his hand for the bottle, and then exclaimed in shock when Magnus's hands went into his hair.

"Just relax," Magnus said, and Alec did that, closing his eyes and luxuriating in the feeling of Magnus's blunt nails over his scalp. He moaned, and could hear Magnus chuckle.

"Now, close your mouth."

Alec obediently moved under the spray to wash out the suds. When they were out, he opened his eyes and asked, "Can I do that for you?"

Magnus nodded and Alec repeated the process. Magnus, however, didn't exclaim, he _purred._ Alec shampooed Magnus's hair faster than what Magnus did for him, shoved him under the spray, and when all the suds were out of a giggling Magnus's hair, Alec shoved him against the wall and swallowed the giggles-turned-sighs with a bruising kiss.

He was well aware of the fact that they were both aroused; Magnus's cock brushed his as he bit Magnus's upper lip, and they both moaned. Alec, without thinking, canted his hips forwards, just to replicate the feeling again, and was rewarded with the feeling and with Magnus's moan.

"Wait," Magnus gasped, hands on Alec's waist tightening, "are you sure?"

"About what?" Alec panted, trying to move his hips forward again but Magnus holding him back.

"That you want this. Now. Here."

"Magnus," Alec snapped, desire spiking into irritation, "just because I'm a virgin doesn't mean I need roses. I need-- Magnus, fuck," and here his head dropped onto Magnus's shoulder, "I need you, right now. I-- ah!"

Magnus had moved his hips forward and wrapped his hand around the both of them, sliding it back and forth, no rythm whatsoever but neither of them cared. Alec squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the sound the water made when it met the tiles, Magnus's shallow breaths, his own heart in his ears.

He felt alight, alive, on edge. He felt hot and tingly, as if warm sand was flowing through his veins, not blood rushing in his ears. He opened his mouth and laid a sloppy open-mouthed kiss on Magnus's shoulder, causing the older man to moan again and move his hand faster.

Alec opened his eyes, sliding his head back to rest his forehead on Magnus's shoulder. His legs were shaking, he could barely breath for panting, and the sight of Magnus's hand holding his cock against his own sent him over the edge with a cry, his vision blurring. Dimly, he heard Magnus tip over the edge as well, hand stuttering and falling back to Alec's hip.

They stood there, swaying slightly. Alec felt drunk, and shy, and bold, and so many things at once, but mostly peaceful. Mostly happy.

His hands moved from the wall, where they were supporting him, to Magnus's waist, mirroring him.

Not mostly happy. Entirely happy.

"Here's the good thing, though, Mr. Dopey Face," Magnus said.

Alec quirked an eyebrow. "Really? Now? You quip now?"

"It's a good thing," Magnus said emphatically, ignoring Alec, "that we hadn't finished washing yet."

Alec stared at him, at the spark in his eye, and burst out laughing. Magnus joined him, and then yelped when Alec pulled him towards himself in a fierce hug, his chest rumbling with mirth against Magnus's cheek and making him smile as well, even though Alec was tricky enough to take advantage of the fact and wash Magnus first.

Very thoroughly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again, you're welcome.
> 
> Tee hee.
> 
> (I don't like being smug because ugh, but a surprise chapter AND rating change AND shower sex AND first time? I mean, come on. Let me just this one time.)


	11. you take what you get and you turn it into honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember - this is rated E for a reason!
> 
> Tags changed a bit. I'm just hintin'.
> 
> Also - people have been noticing the Hamilton references I sneaked in, so I'm just giving you a heads up - this chapter has one, too, and if you spy it, you get a virtual cookie.
> 
> Title's from Avril Lavigne's [Complicated](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NPBIwQyPWE).
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated and giggled over!

Simon blinked his way awake groggily. His ceiling, decorated with glow in the dark stars, was dark, since this time, Raphael remembered to draw the drapes before he started stripping.

Simon grinned to himself at the memory of last night. There was something to be said for your boyfriend being incredibly strong, especially if it allowed for him to hold his position on his hands and knees without collapsing.

Well, he did collapse eventually, but that was after the third time he came. And in Raphael's defense, the first two were from rimming and dirty talk, and there's really a limit to how much one boy can stand.

Simon stretched languidly, humming to himself and shimmying out from under the covers to luxuriate in the feel of cool air on his sweaty skin. The sex was a welcome and blessed addition to his life, but he still felt as if the more he knew about Raphael, the less he knew. They had become fast friends when Raphael started working at Biscuit a couple of years ago, but they mainly bickered about science fiction and had the odd deep philosophical discussion. The only things Simon knew about Raphael's history was that he was born in New York and grew up with his aunt, who died in a drive-by shooting when he was fourteen. Nothing about his parents or possible siblings, high school life, or even what he was doing in Rochester.

(Maybe that was the reason that Magnus gave Raphael so many breaks when he first started working there. They shared the same prickly exterior and reticence to talk about their past; the only reason Simon knew anything about Magnus was because of Clary and Gwen.)

The all-too-familiar feeling of self-doubt started creeping into Simon's chest, and his contented smile morphed into a small frown. Was there anything to this relationship besides sex? Was it just mutual attraction that would burn out eventually?

"You're thinking again, Lewis," came an amused voice from the doorway. Raphael was leaning against the door he had closed behind him, in his boxers, his arms crossed. His eyes were hooded, his gaze warm as it sweeped over Simon. "Thinking after sex for you is never a good thing."

Simon stretched out his arm, and Raphael moved across the room to climb into bed beside him, leaning into him as Simon wrapped his arm around Raphael's shoulders. "I'm never not thinking, Rafa," he murmured, slowly tracing ghosts of shapes onto Raphael's shoulder.

"Really?" Raphael looked up at him with a wicked smile, and Simon's curiosity was swept out of the way by a wave of affection and lust that coursed through him.

"Wanna make me stop?" he teased, and Raphael's grin was nearly feral as he moved so that he was covering Simon's body with his own.

"Always glad to try," he said, and slid down Simon's body. Before Simon could process it, Raphael had his mouth around his morning wood and one hand on Simon's nipple, the other gripping Simon's hip strong enough to bruise.

Simon gasped, hands flying to Raphael's already-tousled hair. "Fuckjesusfuck-- oh!"

Raphael hummed and Simon groaned, abandoning all pretense of control. He held Raphael's head steady and thrust into his mouth, warmth rushing through him.

He forced himself to brave the torrent and opening his eyes, nearly sobbing at the sight of Raphael's mouth, red and slick, wrapped around his cock. Raphael moaned, hands moving to grip the sheets on either side of Simon. His eyes fluttered open, cloudy and pupils blown wide; the moment they met Simon's gaze he was gone, coming with a cry into Raphael's mouth.

He panted as he came down from his high, hands relaxing their grip on Raphael's hair, who released Simon from his mouth and mock-glared. "No warning?"

In lieu of a response, Simon hauled Raphael up and kissed him, hand slipping past Raphael's waistband to wrap around his hard cock. Raphael gasped, and Simon licked into Raphael's mouth, tasting himself as his hand pumped Raphael once, twice, and he came with a shout that was swallowed by Simon.

"On top of all your other kinks, Simon," Raphael managed to get out a few moments later, after biting Simon's bottom lip and drawing back, "do you think you might want to get to work at some-- now that's just not fair," he complained shakily to a smug Simon, who had taken his wet hand out of Raphael's boxers and licked it.

"We should get to work," was all Simon said, his smile growing even bigger.

\---

It was 8 AM. After their eventful shower, Magnus and Alec had made their way down to the bakery, comfortably close; Magnus had whipped up some brown bread with raisins while Alec worked on lemon poppyseed muffins, and then they made out for as long as the muffins were in the oven (which was lucky because one more minute and Magnus would have been on his knees and nothing would have gotten baked that day).

Presently, Alec was on his guitar again, singing Jason Mraz softly to himself, and Magnus was whisking some espresso glaze together with a fond smile on his face. He still wanted to jump Alec's bones, but it had settled down into a subtle buzz instead of a scratching need.

_Is this what falling in love feels like?_

Magnus took a deep breath and sighed it out. He knew this would come along at some point, but he never expected it to sweep him away and not bowl him over. With Elias, he had fallen into a hurricane; this time, with Alec, he felt like he was winding his way down a river. The potential for thrill was there, but he had more control over letting it in.

"Magnus, I think the glaze is pretty much ready," Alec's amused voice cut through his thoughts, and Magnus grinned, turning to Alec, who was smiling as well, fingers on his guitar. And of course, Clary chose this moment to skip into the kitchen.

She caught sight of Magnus and Alec looking at each other, and stopped mid-skip, one leg still raised and bent at the knee. Slowly lowering it, she grinned devilishly and exclaimed, "You two fucked!"

"Sweet Jesus," Magnus groaned, dropping the whisk with a clatter and burying his face in his hands. Alec looked like he didn't know if to be horrified or amused, and settled on snorting and then coughing.

"Hey," Clary said, raising her hands in defense, "I haven't been shy, I'm just a girl trying to do what's best for the bakery."

"What, call us out on our sex life?"

"So it's true!" she crowed, and skipping past Magnus, she rushed over to a bemused Alec to give him a hug, and then turned to Magnus and punched him on the arm. "It's about time!" she said, laughing, but her eyes were soft, and slightly glassy, and suddenly Magnus felt the minutest of clicks, as if things were falling into place.

Who would have known.

\---

"I still can't believe she answered you first," Isabelle griped, braiding her hair. Her lips were drawn together, petulant, and Jace could only grin.

"Really, Izzy?" he drawled, laid out on the bed with his arms pillowing his head. He was ready to go, but Izzy wasn't, and meanwhile he was taunting her.

"You're so vanilla, Jace," Izzy said, sighing as she tied off the edge of her braid and grabbed her mascara. "I'm more interesting than you. Also," she raised her eyebrow at him in the mirror, "sexier."

"Well, maybe she needed to get off--"

"Please," Izzy scoffed, finishing off her makeup with a flick of her wrist and getting up, checking her outfit in the mirror. "Don't even start."

Jace got up in one fluid movement, brushing a nonexistent piece of lint off his leather jacket shoulder, and shrugged. Izzy ignored him while she put on her peacoat, and only answered after she had artfully arranged her knit cap on her head to best show off her braid.

"Jace, honey," she said, walking past him and out the door, patting his cheek, "I don't need a man to get me off. And, judging by what I heard from the other room last night," and here she smirked as Jace stepped out after her and shut the door behind him, "neither does she."

They set off down the sidewalk, Izzy strutting and Jace silently fuming. Izzy's phone pinged, and she pulled it out, ready to invent another excuse for her parents for why she wasn't home yet, when she saw that she had a message from the pretty redhead she and Jace were arguing about.

C: Hey, missed your message. damn shame, tho, you're hot.

Izzy's grin widened and she typed back an answer.

I: why a shame?

C: are you still interested?

I: in having sex with you?

C: you're direct

I: i don't like skirting around the subjects. but i do like skirts

C: wow that was bad

I: indeed. how about i take you out tonight as penance?

"Izzy, we're here," Jace said, and Izzy looked up from her phone. They were standing in front of a coffee shop window; the interior was busy, but she could glimpse the staff behind the counter. One of them, a willowy man with a grey beanie, was laughing with a short young man with short cropped black hair and a square jaw next to the pastry display case, but there were so many customers that Izzy couldn't make out who was standing at the register.

"Let's go in," she said, and Jace pushed open the door, holding it for her as she sailed past him.

\---

"So he really doesn't shut up," Magnus said.

Raphael grinned and nodded. "And he says the oddest things when he sleep talks-- Magnus?"

Magnus had stiffened, looking up and past the line of people at the register, who Clary was serving drinks to at a dizzying pace (they all wanted hot cocoa). He saw two familiar faces at the end of the line. They were unmistakeable - those eyes, that hair.

But what was he supposed to do? And why should he do anything?

He stayed rooted to the spot. Raphael followed his gaze and grinned; the line moved forwards fast, and Izzy and Jace were two customers away from the register, where Clary had ducked to get a new roll of recipt paper.

"Oh, those two? They were in here yesterday."

\---

Clary grumbled. This was her least favorite part of manning the till, but she had to do it. When she finally located the rolls of paper, she grabbed one and stood back up--

To be faced by two all-too-familiar faces.

Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in a perfect small 'o', and Jace smirked. "Fancy seeing you again," he said, and Izzy rolled her eyes.

"Save it, golden boy," she said sweetly, and then turned to Clary, who realized who she was and promptly turned a shade of red that was too close to her hair color for comfort. "I--" she stammered.

Which is when the kitchen door opened and Alec came out holding a plate of mocha scones, drizzled with espresso glaze. He saw Magnus first, who was still not moving at all and looked like he had seen a ghost; Raphael, who was sniggering; and then his gaze landed on Clary and he saw Jace and Izzy, who saw him at the same time.

The plate of scones slipped out of his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -hides-
> 
> THERE'S A REASON I STARTED WITH SAPHAEL
> 
> PLEASE DON'T HATE ME FOR THE CLIFFHANGER


	12. did you fall for a shooting star, one without a permanent scar?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPSY DAISY I WAS GONNA POST THIS TWO DAYS AGO BUT I LITERALLY ONLY WROTE IT ALL TODAY.
> 
> Also it's super long?? And not as linear?? And has 3 POVs gosh I'm sorry.
> 
> Kind of heavy, but important. It answers questions, and poses MORE, and mostly absolves me of the guilt of the previous cliffhanger. I hope.
> 
> Title's from Train's [Drops of Jupiter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lORcpT89t9c).

Raphael made it a rule to be prepared.

When he was a little kid in Brooklyn, he’d spread out his outfit for the next day of school on top of the storage boxes that went under his bed. He’d take care to put it back, so that he could move around his cramped room, and the next morning, he would be up and ready before his parents, sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a bowl of cornflakes.

When he started getting ignored at school, he brought a book with him to read during recess. And when they started pushing him around the playground, he learned to push back.

He also learned how to talk pretty, to get out of trouble for pushing people around.

By the time he lost his mother, he had grown a thick skin; dealing with the loss only made him sharper, more aware. The world throwing a wrench into his life confirmed that he was the only person he could trust.

The next skill he had developed was crystal-clear awareness of his surroundings, and it came at a price. He was involved in some less-than-savory business dealings, and got out right in time. From that moment onwards, he kept his eyes open and his mind alert, instead of blindly charging forwards.

It made for a slightly slower life, but he knew he wasn’t falling behind or running late. He was in a constant state of lying in wait for the next opportunity.

Which is why, when the plate of scones slipped out of Alec’s hands, Raphael was quick enough to both catch it, losing only one precariously balanced scone in the process, and quip “How cliche of you, Alec” as he straightened up.

He blinked, sliding the plate into the glass display case. The dark-haired girl had disappeared, and the blonde was studiously looking everywhere but at Clary, who was looking between Alec and him with wide and confused eyes. Both the blonde and Clary, Raphael noted with slightly amused detachment, were blushing furiously.

His analysis of the situation was cut short by Alec stumbling into him, on account of the dark-haired girl bowling into his arms, and knocking Raphael into Clary, who yelped and glared at Raphael. He shrugged - what, you think I had control over being knocked over? - and turned back to stare at Alec, who was being bear-hugged by the disappearing girl.

Alec looked stunned. His eyes were wide and his jaw was set, and his arms weren’t around the girl but his hands were grasping her shoulders. She was muttering under her breath, and Alec was shaking his head, and Raphael could tell it was Spanish but he couldn't hear more than that, and then someone near the register cleared their throat and everyone turned to the blonde, whose arms were crossed over his chest.

“Alec, what the fuck?” he said, enunciating every word slowly, his face set in a blank expression, belied only by his clenched jaw.

Everyone's gazes whipped to Alec, who visibly gulped.

One of the things Raphael had learned to do at an early stage in his business endeavors, was knowing when to take a break. So he cleared his throat, and everyone turned to him.

Marvelling at how hopelessly captivated they all were by these two new people, Raphael pointed at them and then at Alec. "You three," he said, "obviously need to talk. Magnus," and here he turned to the taller man, who was standing absolutely still next to the kitchen doors, "take them upstairs to your apartment. We," and here he motioned to Clary and Simon, one embarrassed and one confused, "will hold down the fort."

Silence. Someone cleared their throat. The black haired girl tilted her head and stared at Raphael. Simon scratched his head.

"MOVE IT!" Raphael roared, and there was a yelp from the back of the coffee shop as Hayley dropped her mug in surprise. Filing away her presence for later, Raphael glared at Magnus, who took the hint and, moving over to Alec, touched his elbow lightly. The dark-haired woman followed Magnus's hand with her eyes, taking everything in.

"Alec?" Magnus inquired, voice soft and careful. "Follow me." It was posed as a command, but the tone and Magnus's body language wrapped it as a question, one that Alec answered by mutely following Magnus. The woman and the blonde followed, a silent train, as Magnus exited the shop.

There was a beat of silence, and then a meek voice said, "Uhm, hey guys, I know you're kinda busy, but my mug-- I can pay for it, I promise--"

"No need, Hayley," Clary said, breaking out of her reverie to smile at the girl, who started, as if surprised to realize that Clary knew her name. "I'll come over now to clean--"

Hayley shook her head and held out her hands. "Just give me the broom and dustpan," she said decisively. "You guys obviously have something to talk about."

It was Clary's turn to be shocked. When she turned to Raphael, he jerked his head towards the broom and raised his eyebrows, and she complied.

Soon enough, the three coworkers were sitting on stools behind the counter, after flipping the store sign to Closed and Raphael pouring them cups of water. Clary had explained what happened with Jace (the blond guy) and after giving her a "not bad" face, Simon tried and failed to start several different sentences. Raphael laid a hand on the small of his back, stopping him in his tracks, and turned back to Clary, who was looking at them with a nearly wistful look in her eyes.

"But you didn't only recognize Ken Doll there," he said crisply, and Clary snorted. "You recognized the girl, too."

Clary nodded, blushed, and coughed. "Uh, yeah," she said. "They both responded to my Tinder messages. Within 5 minutes of each other. But I answered Jace first, so, yeah. Uhm."  
"So why not both?" Simon suddenly piped up, and Clary choked on her water.

Raphael rolled his eyes and passed her a napkin. "I see we're feeling sassy today."

"Sassy, but mostly shocked and weirded out," Clary said, and then Magnus walked in, looking tense but an almost unimaginable grin playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Is everything okay, Magnus?" Clary asked, hopping off her stool and hurrying to his side. He put his arm around her shoulders, half-hugged her to him, and his grin fluctuated some more.

"Yeah," he said, voice distant. "They have some issues to talk about, but everything's okay."

"Who are those people?" Simon asked. "Besides Clary's booty calls."

Magnus raised his eyebrows and looked down at Clary, who managed to look both embarrassed and proud at the same time. Then he looked back up, and the grin was set on his face; it was small, and his eyes were questioning, but Raphael could tell that, combined with the distance, the questions weren't directed at them.

"The guy is a friend of Alec's," Magnus said. "And the girl is his younger sister Isabelle."

\---

Alec was sitting on Magnus's sofa, elbows resting on his knees, holding his head in his hands. For a brief moment, he contemplated putting them over his ears, but he knew Izzy would rip him a new one if his fingers even inched in that direction, so he stayed put and allowed them to continue yelling at him.

He was still flashing hot and cold with a variety of emotions, leaving him mostly tired and light-headed and making his heart beat unnaturally fast. It was throwing off his balance. It was weird.

But it was also... comforting. Because for the past six months, he'd been coasting through panic and rage and fear and self-doubt, and this past month had grounded him, helped him climb out of the pit of distracting and destructive emotions. He had found his center with Magnus, with the bakery, with Simon and Clary and, yes, even Raphael.

Seeing Izzy and Jace standing there was like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. He was still trying to find his footing.

"Jace, he isn't listening to us," he heard Izzy said, and since he knew his sister too well, he sprung up and was on the other side of the room before she had a chance to kick him.

"Let me guess," he snapped. "You can't believe me, how did I leave without telling you anything, you've all been worried sick--"

"Well, no," Jace said, arms still crossed, which meant he wasn't that pissed off, just enough for show. "Lydia told us--"

"I knew it," Alec muttered.

"--that you were okay, but she refused to divulge any more info," Izzy cut in, completing the sentence. "So she's still loyal to you, even though I have no idea why."

"I was her only friend at the Consulate," Alec said tightly.

"She also has a sense of duty, thank god, because otherwise it would have taken us lots longer to find you," Izzy retorted. "Which, by the way, kudos on not taking anything trackable with you."

"How did you not work your connections to track my passport?" Alec asked, curiosity momentarily winning over the other emotions. Izzy opened her mouth to reply, but Jace interrupted, uncrossing his arms to gesture.

And when he gestured, he was mad.

Alec suddenly felt slightly sick.

"Why did you leave, Alec?" he asked, and his eyes were blazing with an emotion that Alec couldn't name. "You just up and went--"

"Because I thought you'd tell my parents about the kiss."

"Did you not read any of the texts I sent you that night?"

"What kiss?" Isabelle asked slowly, but Jace and Alec ignored her. Alec was leaning against the wall, scuffing the floor with his shoe, looking down and breathing fast. In, out, in, out. In. Out.

"I turned my phone off and got out." In. Out. "So no, I didn't read your texts."

"What k--"

"Well, if you didn't run out like a five year old," Jace snapped, "you would have known that I was apologizing. For about fifteen texts. Before I realized that you probably got rid of your phone because we couldn't even track it."

In. Out. "The battery and the phone were separated and they're in my bedside drawer in the Institute," Alec mumbled, sliding down the wall and folding himself inwards as much as possible. "I'm sorry."

"WHAT KISS," Izzy yelled, and they both looked up at her.

In. Out. In. Out. "That night, we got really drunk off boxed wine and I kissed Jace."

Jace narrowed his eyes. "I kissed you."

"You two kissed each other," Izzy started saying in a soothing voice, but both men shushed her. Her hands went to her hips and her eyebrows started climbing.

Alec looked up at Jace, who looked confused. "So you don't hate me?" he asked in a small voice. His stomach was tied into one huge knot, and his brain hurt thinking about how rashly he had acted, but there was hope that--

"Alexander Gideon Lightwood, why the fuck would I fly across the pond mid-training to yell at someone I hate?" Jace yelled. "If I wanted to yell at someone despicable, I'd get a Twitter account and start hounding Drumpf supporters!"

Alec's mouth hung open, Izzy's mouth was curved into a smile, and Jace plowed on.

"I kissed you because I was blotto drunk and, well, curious," he said, scuffing the floor just like Alec, who tampered down the desire to laugh like a maniac. "It was a mistake."

"Am I that bad?" Alec asked, adopting a sad face even though rays of hope really were poking through the knot of anxiety in his gut. Izzy laughed, and Jace looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

"No, Alec, you're fine," Jace said gently, sitting down in front of him and holding out his hands. After a brief moment, Alec placed his hands in Jace's. "It's me who misinterpreted the situation and did something entirely alcohol-fueled. I'm sorry about that." His gaze bore into Alec's, earnest and unrelenting.

Alec squeezed Jace's hands and sighed, hanging his head. "I feel like such an idiot," he muttered. "I feel like such a colossal idiot."

"Why," Izzy said, sitting down as well and placing a hand on each of their knees, "because you flew back to the US and lived like a homeless dude to get away from the possible wrath of a drunk friend who kissed you?"

Alec raised his head and stuck his tongue out at his sister, whose eyes misted over and she leaned on him, placing her head on his shoulder. "We missed you, Alec," she said thickly. "I missed you."

"And what..." Alec swallowed, tightening his grip on Jace's again, who squeezed back for support. "What about Mom and Dad?"

"They can't do anything, you're over 18," Izzy replied a tad too quickly. Alec snorted.

"They paid for the tickets," Jace said after a brief hesitation. "They knew that we know about the Syndicate and in order to get us to not go after them, they paid for our tickets."

There was a brief pause as they all mulled it over, broken only by Alec going, ruefully, "You didn't--"

"Of course we didn't keep our promise!" Jace crowed, and Izzy wore one of those self-satisfied grins she was so good at.

"Not much has changed, then," Alec said, the knot in his stomach easing up, slowly.

"Except that Magnus guy," Izzy said, raising her head from his shoulder and turning to look at him, eyes glinting for a different reason this time. "What's going on between you two?"

\---

At the moment, Magnus was pacing the floor next to the kitchen island in the bakery, waiting for the pizza dough to rise and subconsciously straining to listen in to the conversation.

He would have given anything to stay there and hear what they had to say, but he could tell he couldn't be there. It was a family matter. So after he ushered everyone into his apartment (and thanked the gods that he and Alec had sex in the shower and there weren't any condoms in the trashcans), he laid his hand on Alec's shoulder, pressed down lightly, and left.

He didn't want to show him too much affection, not knowing how Izzy and Jace would respond; Alec told him about his childhood, but never told him why he left the UK or if he was out to his family. He suspected that Izzy knew, if her narrowed gaze was anything to judge by, but Jace was staring at Alec with a... hurt look? Longing? Magnus didn't know.

But he wasn't jealous or anything.

He stopped pacing and sighed.

Maybe a little.

Come on. Jace was ripped, and had those _eyes_ , and all he had was floppy hair and sarcasm. How--

The kitchen door opened, and Alec peeked in.

"Alexander," Magnus breathed. "Are you okay? Where are Jace and Izzy?"

"They went back to their motel rooms," Alec said quietly, entering the kitchen and letting the door swing closed behind him. He stood there, suddenly looking smaller than Magnus had ever seen him, but also... less tense. Less on guard.

There was a calm in his movements that wasn't there before, as opposed to being careful. Magnus's eyes flicked up from looking Alec over, to his face.

Alec was gazing at him, steadily, and Magnus's breath stopped, because he _knew_. He didn't even need Alec to say it. He _knew_ what was behind that look.

It would be enough.

So he stepped forwards once, slowly, then twice, a third time, and was standing right in front of Alec, who was still looking at him with that unbearably steady gaze. Deep and soft and fond.

And, standing on his tiptoes, hands in his pockets, Magnus leaned forwards to press a kiss to Alec's lips.

It was their chastest one, but Magnus's heart overflowed with the simple ache of everything he was feeling at the moment, and everything that wasn't being said.

But as Alec's hands cupped Magnus's face so gently, thumbs caressing Magnus's cheekbones, Magnus knew.

It was enough.

\---

"Jace Wayland is stateside," the lithe young man said to his boss, coming in from the snow and giving her the Starbucks she ordered.

"Did he bring you Creme Eggs?" the woman asked, bored. "Because if not, why does this interest me?"

"He brought the Lightwood girl," the man said, and a grin fixed itself onto his face, showing too many teeth for comfort. "And you'll never guess who her brother is shacking up with."

The woman leaned forwards, grey eyes glinting. "Do tell, Elias. I'm intrigued."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the playlist: I didn't post the original videos, so if you're not from the US, you can listen through the playlist without being interrupted by pesky VEVO laws, like they do to ME ALL THE TIME. UGH.
> 
>  
> 
> [Check it out here!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLK6MhAk0XSRYmjOIzU3o1bKI2aBpLjWvF)


	13. ten thousand stones would be a strange blessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
> 
> *truck backs up on your subscription box, dumps info, drives off*
> 
> Some of it is admittedly fuzzy, but it'll all be explained in the end. The structure is slightly different, and there's Clizzy! But more in the next chapter.
> 
> And on a more somber note - after I post this, I'm going to sleep for the first time in 36 hours. I wrote through exhaustion and through [Lin-Manuel Miranda sobbing on the Tonys stage](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAG_7qeiOZA), because it's been sort of therapy for me. Writing allows my mind to flow. I'm not stopping to think as much as when I'm speaking or reading or listening to music. I never manage to plan plots when I'm not writing. Right now I know EXACTLY what's going to happen next chapter, but ask me in 5 minutes and I'll be clueless (and panicky).
> 
> The keyboard is my haven. These past few days necessitated a haven for me. 
> 
> If anyone - anyone at all - needs someone to speak to, a new shoulder to lean on, even if it's for a brief few moments, please don't hesitate to contact me via [tumblr](http://grrrbarrowman.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/ringerxo). don't bottle it up, even if you don't think it needs to be let out. please don't isolate yourself.
> 
> Employ self-care. Sleep. Eat. Drink water. Do things that calm you. Aren't you lovelies lucky that writing to me is a form of self-care? =P
> 
> Title is from Adrianne's [10,000 Stones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Stf3kO5Q4Vg).

_Alec is eight years old and he is confused._

_He can hear his mother and father arguing in loud voices from the living room. "Robert, they know. We have to run!" His father's voice, "Maryse, if we run now, they'll assume it's us and then we're really fucked." Alec jumped - his father never used harsh words when his children could hear him - and Isabelle, who had crawled into his bed earlier that evening, picked her head up from the pillow, blinking the sleep out of her eyes._

_"What's going on?" she asked, and he shushed her, shifting as little as possible. They had moved in literally hours ago, their suitcases were still under their bed, and their exhausted mother hadn't even removed the plastic from their new mattress. Alec didn't want his mother to know that they were awake._

_Alec heard someone knock on the front door, and his mother emit a little scream. Izzy's eyes grew as wide as saucers, and she held as still as he did._

_There was a nerve-wracking silence, and then Luke's gruff voice filtered through the wall, making both the small children breathe sighs of relief, until they heard what he had to say._

_"Maryse, Robert... they know. You have to get out. Now."_

_"Where are we going?" Maryse asked, but Izzy didn't wait to hear the answer. She slipped off the bed soundlessly, landing on the carpeted floor softly and whirling into action, shoving her feet into shoes and pulling her suitcase out from under her bed. Alec was hot on her heels, and he was under the bed looking for his shoes when the door to their room opened._

_"Children, we-- what's going on?"_

_Alec slid out from under the bed, breathing hard. He was excited - it was like a real-life version of the pretend games he and Izzy played in the park sometimes._

_His mother was standing in the doorway, clutching his sneakers; she handed them to him, and as he tied the laces he heard Izzy say, "We heard you talking. About going away from here. So we're ready."_

_Alec looked up, hands still on his laces, and he saw his mother smile, but her eyes were sad and kind of wet, and suddenly Alec wasn't so sure that he was going to have fun playing this game._

***

The bakery, after closing time. Gleaming pans lined up on the drying racks, ovens off, stereo turned down.

Clary had left a while ago, muttering to herself. Raphael and Simon only had half-shifts that day. The bakery was closed tomorrow because of Christmas prep.

So instead of rushing home to sleep, Magnus was perched on the couch in the bakery, legs folded under him and grasping a mug of tea, while Alec hugged his legs to himself and propped his head up on his knees.

For the third time since Alec had explained what he was going to do, Magnus asked him apprehensively, "Are you sure about this?"

Alec nodded. "I need to tell you-- no," he corrected himself, subdued, "I want to tell you. I might... not talk as fast, or as... clear?... as I should. But I haven't really had a chance to... think about this. No, I've thought about this. Lots. It's just... I haven't said any of it out loud? To anyone that doesn't know the whole story." He tilted his head to the side, a self-deprecating grin flashing across his features as he scratched his head.

Magnus resisted the urge to put his mug down and kiss Alec's forehead.

Just barely.

"So," Alec said, hand returning to hug his legs, "I'm telling you the whole story. Or what I know about it."

***

_Alec is thirteen years old and he is annoyed._

_"I don't get to do anything alone!" he complained loudly, sprawled across Izzy's red, white and black bedspread. "Mom won't even let me go to the shop for Ribena without someone coming with me."_

_"I can come with you," Izzy said._

_"You don't count for the purposes of Ribena at the corner shop," Alec explained patiently, "because you're ten."_

_Izzy stuck her tongue out at the general direction of their parents' study. Alec waited for her to turn her head before he imitated her; he was three years her senior and was supposed to be more mature than her, but wasn't feeling so friendly at the moment._

_They were ferried to school and back, and rarely let out, seeing as they only went outside with their parents. At school they were allowed some freedom, but Alec envied his classmates for their outings to the cinema, or to the library, or even just to chase pigeons in Trafalgar Square._

_When he was younger, when they made the hasty move to London, he had trusted his parents implicitly. He knew no other option, had no other choice._

_Before he could voice his doubts to Izzy, Maryse called them downstairs to meet Lydia._

***

“She trained us when we were younger,” Isabelle said, hands wrapped around a mug of Lapsang Souchong tea. Curved into the chair as she was, Clary couldn’t shake the image of a supremely confident monarch, until Isabelle pointed her toes inside her boots and all Clary could think about was the sleek lines of a cat stretching.

Her fingers itched for a pad and paper. She wanted to draw. Possibly a cat on the Iron Throne. Possibly a queen on an overstuffed sofa.

“Trained you for what?” Clary asked. She cursed the moment she decided to put her hair up in a messy bun, even though it kept her hands and eyes free. There was just something so much more present about loose, long hair, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Isabelle’s dark tresses making her look disarming and feminine and making Clary feel like a schlump in her sweatshirt and ratty pajama pants.

But enough about her fashion choices. She looked back at Isabelle, who was smiling faintly. “Is there a reason you invited me over and not Jace?” she asked, suddenly changing tack.

Clary made a sort of ‘huh?’ noise in the back of her throat that was supposed to sound nonchalant but came out as more of a whimpering cry for help.

She coughed; Isabelle hid her grin behind her mug.

Finally, she shrugged, her cheeks starting to glow red. “He has…” she paused, then internally said fuck it and barrelled on, “He kind of has a one-track mind, and I just wanted to know what was going on.” She tilted her head, some of her verve coming back to her, and said, “He doesn’t seem like the storytelling type.”

Isabelle laughed at this, a short one, but she threw her head back a bit. “Should I be insulted that you think I am?” she said archly, grinning despite herself.

Clary grinned as well and said, “You don’t seem like the kind of person who would allow someone to affect their feelings without them wanting to. So, my answer doesn’t really matter.”

Isabelle’s eyebrows rose at that, and her gaze turned from teasing to respectful, and the kind of warm that made Clary glad that no one else was there. “You’re smart,” she said. “Lydia would like you.”

***

_Alec is seventeen years old and he is angry._

_Lydia was older than them, more experienced than them, and knew far more about their parents then they did. At first, she would drop hints while training them in martial arts and tutoring them in Greek and Latin; but as time passed and the Lightwood siblings grew, so did their understanding of their surroundings._

_They didn’t take anything for granted anymore. Nothing was accepted with silent acquiescence; everything was questioned, from the absence of British staffers in their expansive house to their parents’ refusal to watch any American news outlets. Their exact and strict education was turned on its head. Manners and obedience were used to hide their tracks._

_Alec wasn't to blame, really. They were the ones who brought Lydia into the fold. Lydia, who sparred with them, taught them how to fight and survive, scavenge and build, investigate and hide. How to unearth information that had been skillfully buried._

_When they were - inevitably - caught, Alec was woodenly riffling through a thick file of photos and reports, hidden in a secret panel behind one of the bookcases in his father's study. It was his third visit to the file; the first one was a mistaken find, the second one was to read it, and the third one was to bring parts of it to Lydia, after he had come to her, eyes blazing and hands shaking, holding a report of drug trafficking in his hands. The pages fluttered, but his heart wouldn't move. She placed her hands over his, stared into his eyes, and said "We need more evidence."_

_Evidence. Such a foreign word when used against your parents. It tasted like stones in Alec's mouth, but he couldn't spit it out._

_His father stepped into the room. Alec didn't even try to hide the file. He wouldn't even look up at him, didn't move when it was unceremoniously ripped out of his hands. His mother came in, stared at him with wide eyes, let a thin stream of angry breath out her nostrils, and turned and left the room._

_Lydia was sent back to her parents, who were moved to New York within the week. Robert tried to explain the file to Alec. Alec listened, but his arms were crossed over his chest and his jaw was set. He wasn't a child who stumbled upon a porn stash. He was seventeen, and he may be lacking in some basic social skills, but he knew what a list of members looked like. He knew what group photographs, and mission reports, and autopsies, and grisly photographs looked like._

_And he knew what his parents looked like, in those reports and photos, their names on the lists._

_Members._

***

"And they wouldn't tell me the truth," Alec said. "They wouldn't elaborate. So I was seventeen, my best friend had just been ripped away from me, Izzy was annoyed at me for that for some reason, and I was angry."

He was still sitting in the same position, but Magnus had moved forwards, his hands covering Alec's, his thumbs moving soothingly over Alec's knuckles. He didn't say a word, but his eyes were wide, as if he were reading Alec as well as listening to him.

"What did you do?" Magnus asked softly.

Alec laughed and shook his head. "Not just me."

***

_Alec is twenty-one and he is scared._

_It was frankly hilarious that it had taken him until now to be scared of what he was doing, of his life, of his circumstances, but better late than never._

_Since that time in the study, Robert and Maryse had locked the door to that room every time. But even if they threw them open and invited Alec to listen to their story and read their files, it wouldn't've succeeded in bringing him back._

_Because Alec was a lone agent, now. He trained more and more every day, taking up archery (easy cover for sharpshooting) and taught himself how to play guitar (a marketable skill, useful in a pinch)._

_After Lydia left, the Lightwoods feared a breach in security, so they brought in a new bodyguard - this time not attempting to disguise him as anything but. (And even if they wanted to, Jace Herondale was too proud of his FBI t-shirts to keep it on the DL.) He might have been cocky, but Jace was an exceptional teacher. The only problem was that he sparred with Izzy, but fought with Alec._

_Izzy would hit the training rooms in their basement ready to train, to learn, to build herself; Alec wouldn't wait for Jace to call anything out before a flat palm, two well-aimed fingers, or just a plain knuckle sandwich came hurtling his way, accompanied by a pair of drawn eyebrows and a battle-ready stance._

_No one ever got hurt. Jace recognized Alec as his equal in combat and said so. Izzy would always watch, fascinated by how fast and hard they moved. But Alec felt frustrated at best, and a downright rage at worst._

_Everything in his life was sure, and the things in life that he couldn't control, he was working on changing. But when it came to Jace, he made him lose his emotional footing. He couldn't trust himself to be quiet, to be steady, to be good at what he did, so he was never casual around Jace. Never just a one-two jab. It was always a punch. It was always an attempt to curb his panic, that this one smooth blonde with the lopsided grin and caramel-sea spray eyes would pull the rug out from under his feet and leave him helpless._

_Alec was scared because he caught himself, more often than not, looking up flights from London to New York and calculating them against his savings account. Found himself devising ways to get into his father's study instead of falling asleep after a gruelling training session. The lack of stability in his interactions with Jace drove him to seek peace with his parents' past, and the only way to do that was to look for the truth._

_In a sense, he was teetering on the edge, ready to throw his weight off one precipice so he could scale the other. In a sense, he needed to pull away from his inner and outer turmoil. In a sense, he needed to carve his own path into the world. In a sense, he needed the truth._

_In a sense, the kiss with Jace was inevitable._

***

"He's deceptively quiet," Isabelle said, grasping her feet. Her legs were folded under her, and she was on the sofa, facing Clary; after some energetic demonstrations of how Alec would fight Jace, she dissolved into giggles on the couch, and was now leaning into Clary's personal space, like they were best friends gossiping about boys.

Which wasn't so far from the truth.

"So did he end up finding the truth?"

Izzy's eyes softened, and the grin slid off her face. "Not yet," she said wistfully, "but we're helping him out."

\---

"Alec, thank you."

Alec peeked up from beyond his knees, and for a moment Magnus was sure he could see the scared but quick eight year old that had slipped out of bed to make a quick getaway with his family. Alec's hair was tousled from his hands running through it in frustration when he couldn't find the words, and his eyes were apprehensive.

"For what?" he asked, muffled.

"For trusting me, and telling me this. I'm glad you did."

"Why?"

"Well," and here Magnus weighed his words carefully, because Alec had just bared himself to Magnus in a far more intimate way than sex could ever do, "because I got to know your past. What drives you. What still drives you."

"I guess it's only fair," Alec muttered. "After all, I'm constantly texting Gwen."

"Oh boy," Magnus muttered, and Alec's grin blossomed.

They stayed like that for a few moments, grinning stupidly at each other, until Alec's eyes softened and he unfolded and rose to his feet, holding out a hand to help Magnus up. The older man stood up as well, kissed Alec's cheek, and tucked his arm around his waist, sliding his thumb through one of Alec's belt loops.

He marvelled at the comfortable intimacy, at the way they moved together. Alec didn't even make a move towards his apartment, and Magnus didn't want him to. They climbed the stairs together, shivering a little, snow whispering against the metal.

"Tomorrow's gonna be a cold one," Alec observed. "Hot chocolate snow day?"

Magnus shook his head as he unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside with Alec right behind him. "Too close to Christmas. I'll be too busy filling orders."

"Let me help you," Alec murmured, and Magnus turned to him, a teasing answer on his lips dying as he saw the slow burn in Alec's gaze, the base and intense lust obvious.

Magnus swallowed, and nodded, and Alec covered his mouth with his.

It was like, Magnus thought dimly as he went limp in Alec's arms, hands grasping weakly at Alec's sweater, being painted over and over with sunlight, in layer after layer after layer after layer, until he was smoldering, but then cooling, but then he was just light, gasping to life as Alec licked his way down Magnus's neck to fasten on his collarbone.

"I've never done this before," Alec murmured, "so bear with me," and he proceeded to suck a perfect, albeit noisy, hickey into the expanse of skin between his neck and collarbone.

Magnus's knees buckled, and it took him a few hazy moments to realize that Alec had backed him up against the bed, so he fell onto the unkempt blankets. Alec was covering him now, hands sliding under Magnus's sweater and tweaking his nipple - oh! - and then suddenly they were on Magnus's fly, and Magnus remembered to slip his own hands up the back of Alec's sweatshirt, mapping out the planes of his back with fingers shaking with desire.

"Magnus," Alec said, voice shaking. "I--"

Magnus could see Alec's hands trembling, harder than before. Slipping his hands out from under Alec's sweater, he pulled him up to his side and smoothed Alec's hair back, kissing his forehead.

"Alec," he murmured softly, kissing the top of Alec's head, "we don't have to do anything tonight. We can just be together. Sleep next to each other. Be close."

There was silence, and then Magnus heard - and felt - Alec let out a shaky breath. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice suddenly small.

"Yes, Alec."

"But--"

Magnus pulled him up a bit more and silenced him with a sweet and short kiss. "I'm not going anywhere, Alec," Magnus said gently, searching his gaze. Alec looked young, looked new, looked like he was relearning Magnus, this man who knew so much about him and yet was so patient.

"Just sleep. We have all the time in the world."

And Alec, exhausted by the day, fell asleep in Magnus's arms, legs intwined, under a comforter as the snow fell soundlessly outside, carpeting the world in white.


	14. although this wave is stringing us along, just know you're not alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so, so, so, so, so sorry that this took so long. Work was crazy, and a friend came to visit me from the UK, and my birthday was last week,and every time I pressed shuffle on my iPod I got hit by a wave of guilt for not writing (because after I decide what the chapter's gonna be about, I shuffle my iPod to choose a song as the title).
> 
> I'll try my best to not have such a break between this chapter and the next, but I have an important exam coming up, so they might be spaced out a bit more than a week. But I'll try my best!
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who comments, and kudoses, and you guys are glorious. Seriously. I love you so so so much.
> 
> Title is from Phillip Phillips's [Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMkqMTK1_O0) \- the link, however, will lead you to the version done with Sam Tsui and the YMCA Jerusalem Youth Choir, which I listen to on repeat because it's amazing and the choir is comprised of Israeli and Arab youth and it's just ugh so amazing. So listen to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget that this fic has a [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLK6MhAk0XSRYmjOIzU3o1bKI2aBpLjWvF) that I update every time I post a chapter!

The morning before Christmas dawned cold, clear, and white.

Clary blinked her way awake, the sounds from the kitchen filtering through her door. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and scratched her head, swinging her legs over the side of the bed (and straight into Spongebob slippers).

The most her brain agreed to process about the commotion when not fueled with caffeine was that it sounded like someone was playing a live version of a Twenty One Pilots song in her kitchen. Something from one of their EPs. With lots of banging on stuff and loud words.

She grimaced, eyes still half-closed, and sighed, plodding her way to the kitchen, hands shoved deep into the front pocket on her sleep hoodie.

"But that's not how you make pancakes!" Raphael's angry voice floated at her as she rounded the corner to the kitchen from her room. The boy, in pajamas and Simon's Patrick fluffy slippers, was glaring at a serene Isabelle, who was attempting to whisk what looked like a bowl of yellow cement.

"Raph," Clary rasped out, then cleared her throat, "Raphael, cut it out. There's no one way--"

"You weren't here when she was measuring in _semolina flour_ and _masa harina_ and barely any liquids!"

Clary raised an eyebrow at him as she opened the cabinet to take out the coffee. "Really? Since when are you a pancake purist?"

"Forget being a purist, that just doesn't make sense."

Clary rolled her eyes as she measured out coffee and hit the button on the coffeemaker. Simon was already at the shop, his boundless energy and enthusiasm just what Magnus needed for the day-before-Christmas rush; she was scheduled for a noon shift, and Raphael really should be on his way already, but he was standing there, glaring at a now-slightly-grinning Isabelle, who was scraping down the clean and dry sides of the bowl so nonchalantly, Clary wouldn't be surprised if she started whistling.

As the coffee machine started gurgling, Clary stepped closer to Isabelle and dipped her finger into the batter, extracting some of it with difficulty. Raphael was right, it wasn't even close to liquid, but that didn't necessarily spell disaster.

But then Clary tasted it, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. It was dry, and tasted vaguely of bland cornbread. Isabelle was looking at her with an eyebrow raised, her grin drooping a bit. Clary looked at her, and chose her words carefully.

"These aren't pancakes--"

"Told you!" Raphael shouted at Isabelle, whose face tightened.

"--but they would make excellent griddle cakes," Clary said, barrelling over Isabelle. "Let me fry them."

Ten minutes later saw Clary sitting with Isabelle on the couch, cold sunlight peeking through the window as they sipped coffee and dipped bits of fried corncakes into syrup, cream cheese, jam, or any of the spreads that Clary had set onto the table. Raphael had left a few minutes later, grudgingly crunching away at a honey-dipped patty, and both women had smiled - Isabelle's was more of a smirk, actually.

The only sound that could be heard for a few minutes was slurps of coffee and clinks of jars against the tabletop as they were used for dipping and placed back down. Clary's mind was waking up, slowly, and the past few days were re-unfolding in her mind, as if she'd hurriedly shoved them away in the closet of her mind and they were tumbling out now.

But as opposed to raising her head from the cash register and seeing both the man she had sex with and the woman she was hoping to have sex with standing in front of her, she wasn't accosted with reality at the moment, so her mind was doing better with the general processing of things.

However, when her mind was given the time and leisure to do things properly, it also tended to bypass her common sense and take the highway to her mouth.

"So did you know that Jace was here before you walked into the shop?" Clary asked, after taking a sip of coffee to unstick the gooey sweetness of jam-slathered corncake from the back of her throat. Raising a placating hand, she said apologetically, "I will warn you, I have lots of questions and no filter, so feel free to stop me when you don't want to answer."

Isabelle, who was sitting on the couch next to her with her legs drawn to her chest and her feet on the sofa cushions, smiled above her coffee cup, which she was elegantly balancing on her knees, and said nothing. But her smile was slow and warm, and her gaze rested on Clary, not skittering away to avoid facing the truth.

"How do you look so fresh after sleeping in a strange bed?" Clary blurted out, and then just continued, her common sense unable to penetrate the stream of questions pouring out of her. "How did you find Alec? Why did he run away? Was it because he kissed Jace? Isn't that a bit of an overreaction? Why do your parents train you guys to be warriors? What's up with Jace, anyways? Is he adopted? And what about your parents now? Aren't they mad you're here now? Weren't they worried about Alec? Why didn't they come themselves?"

Clary took a breath, fully intending to continue, but Isabelle shoved a slice of apple into her mouth. While Clary spluttered, and then chewed, Isabelle took a sip of coffee.

"I took a shower an hour ago and am wearing mostly Alec's clothing," Isabelle started, and Clary noticed that Isabelle was clad in a hoodie and sweatpants that were practically falling off of her, "Lydia hosted him for a few weeks when he first came back and was reporting back to us, which is why he ran again, and that's how we knew where to start looking. He got a rechargeable debit card and used it, thinking it wouldn't leave a paper trail, and used the last of the money on it to get a ticket to Syracuse. From there on, it was a matter of hard work and luck."

Isabelle took another sip, thought for a moment, and continued. "I don't know the entire reason for why he ran away. I'm not even sure he does. You see..."

And here she hesitated, and the mask on her face flickered as she blinked, then it flickered again as she swallowed, and as her brow knit in deep thought, Clary saw the last of Isabelle's mask melt away. Across from her, hugging her legs to herself, was a young woman who was confused, concerned, and still trying to be careful.

"...Alec and I grew up cloistered," Isabelle continued in a subdued voice. "We didn't really learn how normal people react to changing realities. Our rules were far more black and white, and we were taught to take out our frustrations on a punching bag and not on each other. So my guess is that he didn't feel like the punching bag was enough, so he... came here, I guess?" She shrugged lamely. "I wish I had a better explanation," she said, "but unfortunately I can't read Alec's mind. Which is also why I can't tell you if he ran away because of Jace, but," and here she raised her coffee mug in a conspiratorial sort of toast, "I agree with you about the overreaction thing, if that was the case."

Clary raised her eyebrow as she sipped, and Isabelle laughed, a rich sound that broke the tenseness enveloping them.

"Our parents," Isabelle said thoughtfully, "were--are--warriors. Well, agents. My mother is a genius - she's a sharpshooter, and my dad's ex-Marines. He has this attitude about him, you know? He commands respect." Isabelle's smile softened. "They met in Quantico. Alec told me that they used to be so proud of their jobs, of the work they were doing. Of how they were protecting us. So when they were shunted into plain diplomatic positions, they taught us what they knew." Isabelle shrugged. "Some parents teach their kids how to play basketball, or bake, or how to build furniture. Our parents taught us what they knew.

"And they aren't here now because as far as I know, they haven't been back to the US since we moved to London, and I think it has something to do with this syndicate deal," Isabelle finished. They were in the kitchen; Clary had began collecting the jars as Isabelle recounted the story of their childhood, and she was currently washing dishes and trying not to stare at Isabelle leaning on the counter and sipping at a second cup of coffee, tendrils of hair escaping the messy bun she had put her hair in while talking to Clary.

The line _she would look better in my hoodie_ floated through her head, and Clary banished it.

"And Jace, well," Isabelle's grin was nearly feral, "you technically know him better than I do."

"A one night stand does not a soulmate make," Clary quipped.

Isabelle pouted. "So you're saying I don't have a shot?"

Clary spluttered, and Isabelle laughed, laying a calming hand on Clary's shoulder. "Don't worry," she said, "I was just teasing."

"So," Clary said with a sudden and bright grin, "you're saying I don't have a shot?"

There was a beat of silence, the two women looking at each other, and then they dissolved into laughter, holding onto each other and the counter, an island of light and levity in the snow.

\---

Mornings without Clary were hard, but Simon soldiered through it, smiling at customers and serving coffee and only sneaking a kiss from Raphael twice.

He would have done it more, but the blonde from yesterday - Jace? - had come in that morning, glowering, ordered a coffee (double caramel vanilla latte, surprisingly enough), and sat in the corner armchair, glowering at his coffee and his phone intermittently. When he finished his coffee, he ordered another one, much to Raphael's satisfaction (he had a personal vendetta against squatters).

Simon personally thought that Jace's glowering was ruined by the froofy drink, but he didn't know the man well enough to tell him that with enough confidence to overcome the fear of angering him.

"What's his deal?" Simon muttered as Raphael moved past him, hands briefly squeezing his hips as he made his way to the espresso machine to fill an order.

"I don't know, and I don't care," Raphael said, eyebrow arching as he looked between them. "But if you keep staring, I'm gonna get jealous."

Simon smirked, turning to Raphael, but before he could make a salacious remark, Maureen yelled "I NEED MORE GINGERBREAD COOKIES HERE STAT", and Simon shot over to where she was standing on the small stage with a makeshift sales point, a long line of impatient patrons waiting to buy prepackaged Christmas goods.

He hauled some boxes over to her and she ripped them open gratefully, lugging a stack of clear plastic boxes filled with cookies onto the table, then turned back to the customer with a smile. Simon clapped her on the back, checked that everything was stocked on the table (including the chocolate cake pops on candy canes, his own idea and Magnus's execution), and went back to the counter, where Magnus and Raphael were deep in conversation, Magnus glancing at Jace occasionally with a scowl.

"That's not his first coffee, he isn't squatting," Simon said defensively when he reached them, and Magnus shook his head.

"That's not the issue. Alec won't come out from the back as long as Jace is here."

Raphael and Simon looked at each other, looked back at Magnus, and shrugged. Magnus jumped. "Did you sync that on purpose?" he asked.

They shook their heads together, and Magnus hissed, making a cross with his fingers and backing away. He turned around and walked back into the kitchen, the doors swinging shut behind him, and Simon sighed happily.

"I love Magnus on Christmas Eve," he said happily. "He's the weirdest hyperactive overgrown elf ever."

\---

The resident hyperactive overgrown elf was getting his ear nibbled on as Simon said that, so he couldn't care less.

"Mmmm," Magnus sighed happily, hands on Alec's arms as the taller man darted out his tongue to follow his teeth. "As much as I might want to continue this," he said, fingers digging into Alec's biceps as his head drew away from Magnus and he could see the small grin that Alec had on (the one he had grown used to, the one he considered his own), "I have to get back to work."

"Wait, you forgot something," Alec said, and his lips met Magnus's mouth in a sweet, warm kiss that left Magnus breathless.

"See," Magnus complained, a steadying hand on the counter as Alec smirked and moved over to the coffeemaker, "that's just not fair."

"Life isn't fair, princess," Alec said, spooning fresh grounds into a new filter and flicking the button. "Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you something."

Just then, the timer dinged, and Magnus donned the oven gloves to take out the trays of raisin-studded cross buns, snorting at Alec's slightly skewed reference.

He placed the tray on the island, and raised his head as he heard a commotion from the door. It sounded like a brief scuffle, with Simon's voice demanding that the intruder leave and the intruder talking over him in--

Magnus's eyes widened. He dropped the tray on the island and rushed to the door, pulling it open and yelping as he jumped aside, narrowly missing a uniformed person falling into him.

"Mackenzie!" he yelled gleefully. "I knew it was you, you whippersnapper!" And he enveloped the indignant person in a hug, which they returned with enthusiasm.

Alec looked at Simon and raised his eyebrow; Simon shrugged, and hearing Raphael call for him, went back to the shop. Magnus pulled away from the hug and said proudly to Alec, "This is Mackenzie. They're Gwen's partner, and they're stationed in  the Midwest so I had no idea they were here for Christmas."

"Make the right friends in the right branches of HR in the service," Mackenzie responded, punching Magnus's shoulder and grinning, "and you can get away with near anything." They turned to Alec with a grin and scanned him openly, then whistled low and long. "I can see what you see in him."

"You're Mack!" Alec said, eyes lighting up.

"Took you long enough," Mack commented, hopping onto the counter and letting their legs swing, the casual pose looking incogruous with the uniform and buzzcut. Violet eyes sparkled in a young-looking face. "Is he always this slow?"

"Nah," Magnus answered, handing Mack a mug of coffee, black. "So does Gwen know you're back?"

"Nope," Mack said. "It's a surprise. Which is why I'm here. I need a box of your best stuff, because I didn't have time to bake my own before I left base."

"You're going to use my cookies for Christmas?" Magnus cried, clutching at the vicinity of where he would be wearing pearls if he had them.

"It's my recipe, and I taught you how to make them, so technically no," Mack replied. "But yes."

"Don't steal my thunder," Magnus said. "This is a momentous occasion."

"Tell me," Mack asked, pointing at Alec, who was still standing next to the counter, staring at them, "does he always just... stand there?"

"Sometimes he does tricks," Magnus said with a smirk, and Alec rolled his eyes, going to the supply room to get a basket for Mack, accompanied by the sounds of Magnus and Mack sniggering like five year olds in the kitchen.

By the time he came back, Mack and Magnus were deep in conversation, voices low and heads close as they perused the recipe box. Alec, not wanting to disturb them, placed the basket next to the hot cross buns and left the kitchen to grab a chai latte.

Too late, he remembered why he hadn't done so before. Jace was in the corner, on his phone, and Alec ducked behind the counter, cursing under his breath.

"As much as I'd appreciate the offer in an alternate universe," Raphael drawled from right next to him, "Simon blows me already, so would you please move?"

Alec frog-stepped away from Raphael and found himself facing Clary's knees.

"Really?" she said, exasperated. "You've seen him already--"

"Never without Izzy," Alec hissed.

"So?"

"She's like a buffer."

"You can't hide from him forever," Clary said.

"I can try," he muttered.

"Well, you've just failed," came Jace's amused voice from above and beyond the counter, and Alec cursed under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first attempt, ever, at writing a character who uses gender-neutral pronouns. I know it might come off as slightly awkward, also since Mack was parachuted into the end of the chapter (their character will be elaborated upon later, no worries), so if you have any comments about how I wrote it, I'd absolutely love to hear it! I want to do it right.


	15. gravity's a big success, no one's taken off yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT IS THIS SORCERY
> 
> Call it being inspired by the furious voting marathon going on for [Malec as best kiss on e! online](http://www.eonline.com/news/775414/tv-scoop-awards-2016-vote-for-the-best-tv-kiss-and-best-fight-now) (YES GO VOTE). Or maybe Jace and Alec being at odds irked me enough to deal with it ASAP.
> 
> You guys? This sounds more and more generic each chapter, but goddamn. You guys are amazing. You make me so thankful for being able to write and be read by you. Each response, short or long, kudos or hit or comment, is amazing. Remember, you can always come visit me on [tumblr](http://grrrbarrowman.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/ringerxo) to talk about the fic, or about things in general, or to ask for recipes (I have made most of the stuff mentioned here by specifics!). You make my heart happy.
> 
> This chapter is a smooth one. It calmed me down to write it, and I hope you guys will enjoy it as well!
> 
> Title is from Nada Surf's [Here Goes Something](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3EaKQXmHe-Q). Full title playlist for the fic can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLK6MhAk0XSRYmjOIzU3o1bKI2aBpLjWvF). (And I use lyric videos in the playlist so you can listen without Vevo being bitchy about what country you're in.)

Magnus was in the supply closet to retrieve the sugar cookies cooling there from the night before, icing glistening in intricate patterns and colors. Working on the cookies had helped him focus. Narrowing his focus to the perfect meeting of lines and colors to create a plaid pattern on a snowman, or a measured flick of a wrist that turned a striped candy cane into wavy chevrons of tie-dyed delight, was intoxicating.

Luckily, Alec had been there to pull him away after nearly a hundred cookies. Clary and Maureen had individually wrapped each of them, tying them off with ribbons, and they were prepped in baskets, ready for the fastest sale Magnus ever made during the year.

He sold them at a loss, and the money went to the youth outreach program where he had met Gwen, but it was his small, secret Christmas gift to himself, slipping back into that focused zone.

Besides, his gingersnaps flew out the door so quickly that he more than made up for the disparity.

Mack was still perched on the table, waiting for him to come back out to the kitchen with the baskets so he could set them outside and then continue their bull session. He was wrapping up shop, packing up the buns for sale, and clearing the area for a few days of vacation. He would still be baking, but it would be for Clary and Simon, Raphael and Maureen, Gwen and now Mack as well.

And, as Magnus sailed past Mack with the basket and pushed the doors to the shop open, he added a couple of names to the list, even though it didn't look like anyone was looking forwards to it.

Raphael was unabashedly standing there, arms crossed on his chest and a smirk fixed in place as he watched Alec and Jace, sitting in pretty low armchairs, have a painfully awkward staring contest. They would stare at each other until one dropped their gaze. The other would look fed up while the other blushed or muttered under their breath, one of them would look up with an indignant expression and attempt to say something, but the other person's look would stop them in their tracks, and they would stare at each other.

Magnus, still holding the basket, stared as the process repeated itself three times in quick succession. Raphael's grin grew even more.

When Magnus realized he was staring, he shook his head and looked at Clary, standing at the open register, also staring at the scene, and Hayley, whose hand holding a ten dollar bill was in the air, hovering an inch above the cash register, as she stared as well.

Magnus had a pressing urge to laugh hysterically, but he kept it to himself. Raphael stepped back to make way for him and the basket, which he set down next to Clary and cleared his throat.

Clary shushed him. "I'll sell the cookies," she said faintly, still staring. "Right now, I want to know how many times they've gone through--"

"Seven," Hayley said quietly, a note of awe in her voice.

"And they haven't even noticed their audience," Raphael said smugly.

Magnus couldn't resist; he stared as well, for 1.5 cycles, and then huffed and turned back to the kitchen, not before poking Raphael in the side and saying waspishly, "Put up the tree, Santiago," before sailing back into the kitchen, mentally patting himself on the back for not staring some more.

\---

It was Raphael's fault, Alec told his twisting hands firmly. They were in his lap, trying to reenact Swan Lake, and he was actually running through the steps, trying to bend the pads of his fingers to imitate the feet-- wait, they're ballerinas, they're en pointe, no flat feet--

"Alec."

Alec looked up, caught Jace's stare and frown, and looked back at his hands, which were now trying to play what seemed like a Regina Spektor song. Was it [Apres Moi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbeHq1CLqJ8)? That one had busy chords, almost operatic--

"Seriously, man?"

Alec ignored him.

Jace kicked him under the table, and in the back of his mind, Alec could hear the clang of imaginary piano keys as his fingers were jolted off track.

"Will you say something, for fuck's sake?" Jace's voice, exasperated and worried, came through, and Alec raised his gaze to the table. It was better than before, but Jace's sigh said otherwise.

A spike of panic lanced through Alec, and as a concession, he said the first thing that came to mind. "I haven't played the piano since the night before I kissed you."

The drumming of Jace's fingers on the table stopped. "But you took my guitar," he said gently.

Alec shrugged. "Not much of a difference," he said. "I can adopt most chords to the guitar. It doesn't translate easily, especially not the symphonies, and there are better guitar players out there, but I could hardly travel with a piano."

"And it's easier to busk with a guitar."

Alec nodded, and his gaze rose a bit more. Now he could see the base of Jace's drink and Jace's fingers resting next to it - calloused, with short nails, surprisingly thin for someone who lands a mean punch when he wants to.

"After Lydia led you to that wall safe," Jace said, "and I'm not entirely convinced that she didn't have prior knowledge of it, by the way, I never understood why you kept up the piano practice. Your parents forced you into it, and yet--"

"I was good at it," Alec interrupted him, "and it was-- it's mine." His gaze dropped back to his side of the table, its edge. "I don't fight anyone with music. I play it for me." He let out a short, bitter, humorless laugh. "It's the only thing my parents gave me that didn't have an ulterior motive."

"I don't know," Jace said, and Alec could hear the grin in his voice. "I don't think the instruction of Latin is part of their plan of world domination."

"Someone needs to infiltrate the Vatican," Alec said.

"What about me?"

Alec huffed out a short laugh. "You? Celibacy?"

"I could try."

Alec finally looked up at Jace, his eyebrows high, the sides of his mouth turned slightly up. "Right."

Jace smirked, and they held each other's gaze for a few moments before Jace broke it to root around his milkshake for bits of cookie. Alec wasn't staring down anymore, but he was staring at Jace's glass, fingers tapping his thigh jerkily every time the spoon was visible through the glass.

Behind them, a small commotion had erupted, with Simon lugging out a dusty box and emptying its contents - a Christmas tree in pieces. Raphael had joined him to attempt and help them to put it together, and Hayley was standing at a distance, filming Simon and Raphael bickering with a grin on her face.

Alec chanced a look at Jace again. The blonde was staring into his glass, but his gaze was unfocused.

"I just don't know what to say," Jace said, "that won't come off as cliche or dickish. I mean," he looked up at Alec, and his look was open and lost and cleaved its way into Alec's heart, "asking you why you never told me is stupid and the answer is obvious. Asking why you ran away--" Jace cocked his head to the side, and his gaze turned shrewd. "Why did you run away? That one's marginally reasonable to ask. Because that's a bit of an extreme resp--"

"I know," Alec interrupted him, and his fingers began tapping away on his thigh again. Behind them, Simon flailed and the bits of the tree they had managed to put together already fell over with a metallic clunk.

"So what should I ask? Or say? Or do, besides coming here? Alec, I miss you. Izzy misses you. Max--"

"Is in boarding school in New Hampshire," Alec interrupted him harshly, "and he should stay there. Far away from our parents."

"I wish I could live in your world, Alec," Jace said, and there was the mocking tone that Alec absolutely did not miss. "A world in which your parents have no influence over your baby brother, even though they chose the school and pay the tuition."

Alec glared at Jace. Oh, this felt familiar, all too familiar, and slipping back into his bickering with Jace was too easy, so he kept his mouth shut.

But, miracles of miracles, Jace sighed and leaned back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just... trying to edge my way around this. It isn't easy."

Alec snorted and leaned back as well. Meanwhile, Maureen had salvaged the tree and was sliding the different parts of the tree onto the base, taking over from a hopelessly giggly Simon.

"I don't think it's easy for either of us," Alec said carefully. "And you know what else?"

"Hm?" Jace hummed, watching Maureen turn the tree around to get the best angle.

"I don't think either of us will ever think that the other one had it worse. So let's not even get started."

Jace looked at Alec, who looked back at him. Something about the way Jace looked at Alec now, narrower, longer, felt akin to how Lydia always regarded them when she was tutoring the older Lightwood siblings.

Jace nodded.

Alec nodded back.

And then Jace said, "Boy, getting laid on the regular sure did mature you."

Without missing a beat, Alec retorted, "Nah, I think it was the living in the streets bit."

Jace's eyes widened. "You lived in the streets? Awesome!"

\---

"Mags," Mack said, as Magnus folded silver sparkles into light blue icing. "How are you, really?"

"Better," he said, watching the glittering particles disappear and reappear, subtle, floating, present. "Better than six months ago. Better than..." He took a deep breath. "Better than a year ago."

"Good." Mack stared at Magnus a bit more, and then swung down from what turned into their perch for the past few hours. "Here, give me the cupcakes, I'll frost them."

Magnus slid the tray over, and Mack grabbed the bag and started piping elegant designs on top of the cupcakes they were going to bring with them as a Christmas gift to Gwen.

The blessed kind of silence drifted over the kitchen, only some National playing softly in the background. It was the Frank Sinatra season, but Magnus was feeling sparky and edgy, like he needed to calm down before he was hyped up. It was 1 PM, the shop was closing in another 5 hours, and they still had to decorate the tree and get stuff ready for the shop's evening.

Collecting the bowls in his hands, Magnus went to the sink and dumped them in. The clattering didn't faze Mack, who kept piping frosting with a benign smile on their face.

Being an explosives expert in the Marines tended to deaden you to the shock of loud and abrasive noises.

Also, the fact that Mack's parents had their own bakery and they had learned all they knew from them, gave them a steady hand with the frosting.

After his frenetic childhood, Magnus needed a pair of steady hands. He may have learned his art with Gwen, but he learned rationality and steadiness with Mack in the kitchen, inventing recipes and eating their experiments. Mack would only let Magnus bake a recipe they already used, if he invented a new one first. Some of the things they came up with were truly horrific (avocado strawberry marble cake - the first and last time Mack tested Magnus for drug use), but some of them - in fact, most of them - were in Magnus's recipe box at Biscuit, nestled next to some of his own inventions.

Magnus trusted Mack implicitly. Mack, on the other hand, had treated Magnus like an equal from day 1; as opposed to a person's skin, if you fucked up in the kitchen, the worst to deal with was more dishes to wash. And trust to teenage Magnus was like sun to a dying flower.

"Mack," Magnus said, a wave of nostalgia and affection sweeping over him, "would you like to join us tonight?"

Mack grinned, tapped the silver sprinkles over the cupcakes, and said, "I'd love to. I'll ask Gwen when I get there. We'll bring cinnamon whiskey."

"It's like you want to see Simon shitfaced," Magnus complained, and Mack laughed.

"Of course. He's a one-man comedy shitshow."

A sound from the door drew their attention. Alec and Jace were standing there, Alec's arm slung around Jace's shoulder, Jace's hands shoved into his pockets, a grin on his face. They looked as if they had just come in from a round of baseball, or a beer with friends, or from just being best friends for years and years, and Magnus felt a stab of something smoky as Alec laughed at something Jace said.

But then Alec saw him, and his gaze softened, and he did that thing where he took a deep breath and let it out, as if he had to remind himself to breathe around Magnus, and the older man was flooded with what could only be described as a warm, tingly feeling. Like the warmth of cinnamon whiskey without the burn.

"We're here to pitch in!" Jace announced, straightening up and saluting, everyone in the kitchen rolling their eyes. "Because Alec told me it's a surefire way to get an invitation to tonight's shindig."

"Not that much of a blowout, Jace," Magnus said, stepping aside and motioning towards the sink, "but you're certainly welcome to join. If--" he looked at Alec "--Alec wants you there."

"Of course he does!" Jace exclaimed, rolling up his sleeves. "I'll be the life of the party, you just see!"

Alec came over and stood next to Magnus, his hand going to the small of Magnus's back and just resting there, shy of clutching his waist but far more intimate all the same. Magnus resisted the urge to melt into the contact, and instead surveyed his kingdom like a benevolent ruler, planning what he was going to make for that night's party with what Alec told him later was a rather sappy grin on his face.


	16. i've forgotten how to smile until your candle burned my skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crazy insane hectic schedule. An exam and 4 papers due in a week and 2 days. Work being so overloaded and finally getting to me.
> 
> HOWEVER here is part 1 of Sappy Christmas Extravaganza at Biscuit Bakery! (How many of you even remembered that the shop has a name it's okay I barely did)
> 
> Enjoy! And the next chapter will be here in either 2 days or 10. I'm not sure. But it will be here.
> 
> Title is from RENT's [I Should Tell You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=majeyBAFLGI).

It might not have been snowing in New York City, but it was cold to the bone. The wind howled through the buildings in JFK airport as a tall woman and a stocky man strolled through the airport towards the car service at the entrance.

Perhaps 'strolled' was the wrong word to use, since the woman looked like she was on the way to murder someone and the man looked as if he would fight her to the jugular of said victim. They both looked intent, and tired, and very good at ignoring the nearly invisible net of undercover security personnel hovering around them at a wide enough distance to not be noticeable to those who weren't looking for them.

Perhaps 'marched' was more appropriate. But that would denote a lack of elegance; the woman looked like she was dancing, flowing from one step to the next with grace when all she was doing was walking; the man's upper body was completely still, his legs the only part that was moving.

They carried themselves with care.

No one bumped into them by accident.

"Sometimes, global warming is a blessing," the man muttered, and the woman nodded tightly. The weather outside was dismal, but they had landed on time, noon of December 24th.

Pulling their suitcases behind them, the couple passed customs and exited into the arrivals hall. The people hanging over the railings, holding up signs welcoming their loved ones, shrank back as they marched - now they were marching - past them, scanning the crowd.

"She's not here," the man said.

"Are we surprised?" the woman retorted, and the man shook his head.

"So what do we do?" the man asked.

The woman smiled, a glint of white teeth only serving to make her face look harsher. "What we do best. We hunt."

\---

"Where's Izzy?"

Jace turned around, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his forearms wet and sudsy, to see Clary standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow expertly raised.

Jace shrugged. "I'm not my sister's keeper," he said, and flashed her a grin. Clary rolled her eyes.

"Did you two sleep together?" Mack asked from the corner, where they were kneading some dough for cinnamon rolls. 

Clary spluttered and Jace said, "There wasn't much sleeping involved."

"Clary," Mack said, giving the dough one final knead before putting it into a metal bowl and covering it with plastic wrap, "please tell me it was a one night stand, because that comment was beneath contempt."

"Well, funny you mention beneath," Jace started with a shit-eating grin, and then Alec, who had just come out of the supply room with a suspiciously rosy mouth and a blossoming hickey half-hidden under the collar of his Henley, smacked him upside the head.

"My hero," Clary said, faking a swoon and fluttering her eyelashes as Mack snorted and Jace glared at Alec.

"You're slipping back into your bad habits, Jace," Alec said mildly, dumping a pile of small packets of various garnishes onto the table. "It's a good thing I'm here to keep you in check." Raising his hand, he covered Jace's face, making the blonde splutter and Clary erupt in peals of laughter. "And don't even think about making any sexual comments from that, it's a desert of materials for smut. It'll just be bad."

"Is he always like this?" Magnus asked mildly, coming out of the supply room with his beanie back on, a tendril of hair escaping over his ear. He put the ribbons and paper casings down, then went on his tiptoes, kissed Alec's mouth swiftly, and spun off to the walk in fridge, leaving Alec wide eyed and slightly wobbly.

"I could ask the same thing," Jace said, his grin morphing into a one-sided sustainable expression instead of the shit-eating extravaganza. "About you and--"

"Yeah, we got it," Clary and Mack said in unison.

\---

"Siiiiiiiiiimon," Maureen's voice rang out.

Simon's hands went to Raph's shoulders and held him still. "Wait, maybe it's important."

Raph looked at him incredulously. "More than this?" he whispered, and thrust forwards, into his fist, which was currently wrapped around both of their cocks.

They were in the supply room; the shop was decorated for Christmas, everyone had gone home to get ready, and they had volunteered to come in early to finish putting together the food for the party and set up the garnishes for the cinnamon roll bake. Of course, when Simon was on his tiptoes, reaching for the bag of candy canes, Raph caught sight of the sliver of skin under his hideous Chrismukkah sweater as it rode up and it all went downhill from there.

Simon bit off a moan and his grip tightened on Raphael's shoulders. "If we ignore her, she might just walk in," he whispered, and then raised his voice. "I'll be out in a sec!"

Raph glowered, and his finger traced its way up Simon's length. The curly haired man whimpered.

"Simon," Maureen's voice was closer, and Raph lost his patience.

"Maureen, go away," he yelled, and he heard a muffled snort, then steps, and then the kitchen door swinging closed.

"Now, where were we?" he purred, biting at the blushing red lobe of Simon's ear, resuming the strokes in earnest.

"Right th--there... ah!" Simon cried out, then muffled his cries in a punishing, burning hot kiss, teeth biting and hot breath ghosting over slick mouths.

It didn't take them long to finish, Raph coming first and Simon following a few seconds later, shuddering into his hand. After cleaning up, Raphael pulled Simon in for a sweet, almost dreaming kiss, one arm around him and one hand in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Now," Simon said, after heaving a huge sigh of contentment, "can we please get the candy canes out?"

"Yes, can you stop fucking in my supply room?" Magnus's voice floated through, and there was a snort of unrecognizable laughter, as well as various titters and giggles.

Simon's eyes widened. "Are they all out there?" he murmured, mortified. Raphael, who had retrieved the candy canes by then, walked past Simon to open the door, where Magnus, Alec, Clary and Isabelle stood, laughing.

"Pervs," Raphael said, then returned the subtle bro-fist Clary offered.

Simon scowled at her. She shrugged and grinned.

"Family indeed," he grumbled, and went to prepare the menorah.

\---

Magnus was sprawled over a beanbag next to the Christmas tree, Alec nestled into his side, watching everyone decorate their cinnamon rolls.

Each person got 2 rolled-out strips of dough, cinnamon filling, and bowls of garnishes were shared as everyone personalized their rolls. Simon was going all out, as usual; Clary was carefully adding lemon pulp to hers, and Isabelle was deftly chopping basil to add to Clary's creation, their heads bent together.

Maureen was creating the pride flag in hers, alternating M&M's with Skittles. Jace and Raphael were on opposite sides of the room, glaring at each other, working on their own rolls covertly. Every so often, one of them would scurry over to the main table, take a handful of topping, and scurry back.

Magnus and Alec had done theirs first, keeping it simple. Magnus added a thick layer of caramel, and Alec had just laid cubes of cookies and cream candy bar side by side on his, rolling it up and placing it on a separate tray from Magnus's.

Theirs had a few minutes left in the oven, so they were watching the others. Frank Sinatra was wafting through the room, the scent of sweet excess permeated everything, and Magnus was feeling warm and good and content.

It wasn't foreign to him anymore, this contentment. He doubted it sometimes, and Jace and Isabelle showing up unexpected shook it briefly, but they slipped almost seamlessly into his little family. Isabelle and Clary had been inseparable the entire evening, and Jace had the normal human response to Raphael, which was trying to beat him at something.

Magnus glanced over at Alec, who was in the process of guiding a rather loaded chip to his mouth, and waited patiently until the vessel carrying the salsa had arrived safely before pressing a kiss to Alec's head.

A few weeks ago, Alec would have asked what that was for. But now, as he chewed, Alec snuggled into Magnus's side, and Magnus's arm wound around Alec's shoulders. The beanbag shifted a bit, but Magnus couldn't be bothered. He was comfortable.

He was happy.

"You okay, Magnus?" Alec asked, looking up at Magnus. Magnus nodded, and kissed him, the flavor of salsa mingling with minty candy canes that Magnus was munching.

Alec hummed, but pulled away before Magnus could deepen the kiss. "We need to take the cinnamon rolls out of the oven," he reminded Magnus.

"I set an alarm. We have a few minutes." Magnus leaned in, and Alec met him, the kiss sweet and short. When they pulled away, Magnus brushed a lock of hair away from Alec's forehead and looked at him.

Alec looked... alive. Aware. Happy, and kind of sticky, and maybe a bit drunk (who let Maureen make the eggnog, she always spiked the eggnog), and so vital it made Magnus feel like he didn't deserve him.

"Magnus, you don't deserve that boy."

Magnus jerked away, and looked at the doorway, where Gwen and Mack had just walked in, arms around waists and grins on their faces. Mack pulled away and started dusting the snow off them and off Gwen, while Gwen hoisted a bottle of Fireball in the air and was met with a cacophony of hoots.

"Animals," Magnus muttered, and Alec nodded seriously, then let out his own hoot. Magnus got out of the chair and dramatically flounced to the doors to the kitchen, declaring Alec a traitor, and went in with a lingering grin, his phone beeping in his pocket.

"Hey," Alec's voice came from right behind him, "you know I wasn't serious, right?"

Magnus turned around and hooked his arms around Alec's neck. "Of course, darling. I was just being dramatic."

"There's a first time for everything," Alec deadpanned, and Magnus snorted.

They fell silent, looking at each other warmly, Alec's hands on Magnus's hips. "You've done me good, Bane," Alec said softly, suddenly. "You've made me better."

"Very abstract of you, Alexander," Magnus murmured.

Alec shook his head. "No," he said. "You've helped me... learn, and better myself. And also maybe helped me heal."

Magnus's heart leapt in his chest. "You feel like home, Alexander," he said, and leaned his forehead against Alec's. "You feel like everything right."

"Very abstract of you, Magnus," Alec whispered.

"Shut up and kiss me."

"What about the cinnamon rolls?"

"They're not part of this narrative," Magnus murmured, but Alec resisted, a pout blossoming on his face.

"I put so much effort into mine!"

Magnus rolled his eyes and let go of Alec, allowing him to slide both their bubbling creations out of the oven.

"Now they have to cool," Alec said after taking off the oven mitts, then yelped as Magnus jumped on his back and hung on like a spidermonkey.

"Magnus, what--"

Magnus licked the shell of his ear, and Alec choked, hands going to hold onto Magnus's legs, holding him in place.

"You were saying?" Magnus said.

"Nothing," Alec said, breathless. "We should wait for them to cool. But we have to go say hello to Mack and Gwen."

"Okay," Magnus said, and made no move to get off Alec's back.

Alec sighed, with a grin, and with Magnus hanging onto him, walked back into the bakery.

\---

"That's sickening," Clary commented, sliding her roll onto a pan and watching as Magnus and Alec conversed with the older couple, Magnus still piggybacking on Alec.

"I think it's sweet," Isabelle said, licking her fingers after dipping them in the chocolate sauce. "Alec deserves to be happy. They're cute."

"They are," Clary agreed. "But I can't help but feel a bit jealous."

Isabelle shrugged. "Growing up with Alec, I saw him support me as I took over rooms. I'm glad to sideline this one."

"Look at us," Clary said with a grin, "two old biddies, watching other people get it."

"Well," Isabelle said suggestively, eyebrows wiggling, "why don't we go, you know, put these rolls into the oven and then look for some of our own?"

Clary looked at her, and burst out into laughter. "That-- no," she gasped, stopping a suddenly morose Isabelle from walking away, "I totally agree, but your eyebrows-- they--!"

And she dissolved into laughter again.

Isabelle sighed, looked at Clary fondly, and patted her upper arm. "Come on," she said, "get your roll. We have an entire kitchen to ourselves."

Still giggling, Clary followed Isabelle into the kitchen, something warm and tingly unfurling inside her.

\---

"Domestic," Gwen said, observing the chaos in the room. "This is domestic."

"Yeah," Magnus said, watching Alec and Mack strategize cinnamon roll toppings.

She looked up at Magnus. "Domesticity looks good on you, Mags," she said softly.

He shrugged and took a deep breath. "It feels good," he said. "Hope it works out."

Alec looked up at them, flashed a brilliant smile at Magnus, and bent back down to the table, sprinkling pecans over the cinnamon roll.

Gwen smiled. "I think it will."

 


	17. I missed your skin when you were east; you clicked your heels and wished for me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHAI.  
> I'M BACK.
> 
> So if you're ever wondering where I went or how to get me to write more, [head over here](http://www.twitter.com/ringerxo) and read all about it because I talk about writing this story LOTS over there. I tag it with #iwltwgq, so tag your questions and I'll answer!
> 
> Lots of things have happened since the last chapter. I've connected the dots in my head - an honest-to-god plot, not just a cover up, and it's settled lots of issues. I like what this story has become. I truly do. And I'm still here. And I'm not going anywhere.
> 
> This chapter is the last bit of pure guilty pleasure fluff before we delve back into Actual Plot Land. We haven't seen Alec's tattoos yet, so there will be that to look forward to, and Magnus inevitably wanting to do naughty things to said skin, and well yeah you get the idea.
> 
> In direct contrast with me wanting to keep the band together (the fic... keep on writing the fic, that is... there is a pun here wait for it), the title of this chapter is from Panic! At The Disco's [Northern Downpour](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-fwKqGNW8Ns). (AHAHAHA NO REGRETS I'VE BEEN HAVING RYDEN FEELS ALL WEEK AND NOW YOU GUYS ALL GET A TASTE OF IT TOO.) And [this](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLK6MhAk0XSRYmjOIzU3o1bKI2aBpLjWvF) is the playlist with all the title songs!
> 
> As always - I <3 you guys. I'll get around to answering your reviews ASAP.
> 
> EDIT: Added a link to Northern Downpour where it should be.

It's not that the employees of Biscuit Bakery had an indecent capacity for sweets (except for Simon and Maureen, who ate all the leftovers at the end of the day and never looked like it). It's just that Magnus was so fond of his little patchwork family that he splurged on the best and sweetest for the holiday, and they all dutifully trained for the occasion, eating sweets sparingly enough to still have an appetite but not cutting it completely out so as to make them overwhelming when they did end up consuming mountains of them.

So after the cinnamon rolls, Magnus relit the fire in the rarely used fireplace, brought out bowls of marshmallows, and spiked the eggnog a bit more, adding some Sriracha and 85% cocoa syrup to cut through the sweetness.

They were sprawled around the room, chatting softly, the occasional laugh peppering the sound of whatever songs populated the Christmas playlist. Magnus was cleaning up, slowly, allowing himself to survey the scene with a soft, unbidden smile gracing his features, crinkling the corners of his eyes and curving the line of his jaw, softening it.

Alec was deep in conversation with Jace; they looked like they were updating each other on their time away, or possibly talking about their parents. Whatever it was, Magnus knew that something had infused itself back into Alec's carriage, making him seem more collected, focused. Like he had fit a puzzle piece back into himself, and it meshed better now.

Jace was slung back in his chair, looking every bit at ease, but his fingers flexing constantly gave away his alertness.

Clary and Isabelle were still in the kitchen, and quite frankly, Magnus wasn't going to be the one to roust someone away from discovery tonight.

Raphael and Mack were conferring in the corner, in what looked more like a battle strategy session than a conversation, and Maureen and Simon were playing a rather strange round of Bananagrams with Gwen, who was losing horribly to Maureen but making up for it with enthusiasm.

It was still snowing outside, softly, and as Magnus piled the sticky dishes by the sinks in the service area, he luxuriated in the idea that the snow was as soft as it looked, even though he knew it could be harsh.

His hands idling on the nearly-empty bowl of cinnamon filling, he tore his gaze away from the snow and looked back at Alec and Jace, whose heads were bent over a sheaf of papers that looked almost... military.

Before he could try and catch a better glimpse of them, however, Alec turned his head and saw him craning his neck. Murmuring to Jace, he was up on his feet and striding towards Magnus purposefully.

Magnus was reminded of the jaguars he had seen on National Geographic. Alec was like that now - stalking, sure, centered, a playful grin edging his face.

"Before you try and get me to tell you what that was," Alec said, hopping up onto one of the stools and leaning acros the counter so that his nose was nearly touching Magnus's, "I propose a trade."

Magnus made an undignified sound in the back of his throat and gripped the counter edge. Hard. And then he cleared his throat and said, "If it includes the information, I'll agree to nearly anything."

Alec's eyes flashed, and his mouth softened into a smile. "Deal," he said. Then his eyes flicked down to Magnus's sweater, and when they flicked up, they were sparkling and just a tad smoldering, as he said, "How about we go and get you cleaned up?"

Magnus looked down and cursed. The front of his sweater was full of gooey cinnamon filling from his hands, which were pressed against his front as he leaned over the counter towards Alec like a lovestruck schoolgirl.

He followed Alec out the door, shivering in the snow, and trudged up the staircase, Alec following him.

When he reached the landing, he realized that Alec's steps had stopped a few moments ago. Turning around, he saw Alec scrutinizing the side of the building, where the window to the kitchen was situated, and where two figures were leaning against the brick.

Magnus couldn't help it. Maybe it was the surreal peace of the silent swirling snow; maybe it was the Fireball warming his veins; maybe it was the pit of his stomach, swirling with emotions and feelings that he was growing accustomed to hosting. But as he saw Clary and Izzy, he laughed.

Alec turned towards him, surprised, and Magnus pulled him up the stairs and towards the door. "Let them be," he murmured, and Alec surrendered to Magnus's warmly sparkling eyes as he followed him inside.

\---

"If you do a fucking snow angel, Clarissa, I'm climbing back inside without you," Isabelle threatened, hugging herself as Clary spun around, her fiery hair fanning out behind her as she laughed and tried to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

"You wouldn't," Clary said, flashing a grin at Isabelle, and Isabelle scowled, because she knew Clary was right.

She hugged herself tighter and muttered, "We should have left through the front door. That way we'd have our coats with us."

Clary smiled. "Are you cold, Izzy?" she teased, and got a glare in response; giggling softly, she approached Izzy, who involuntarily stepped back, until she felt the wall of the building against her back.

As Clary's hair filled her vision, and the woman's golden gaze flickered down to her lips, Isabelle felt like she was being hunted, instead of being the hunter.

And as Clary slid her body against Isabelle's, delicious warmth shooting through her veins despite the snow she was standing in and the chill of the bricks against her back, Isabelle allowed her eyes to close.

Just this once.

A breath ghosted across her cheekbone. "Feeling warmer?" Clary whispered.

Well, there was just so much a girl could change.

Isabelle moved forward slightly, but with their level of proximity, slight was all their lips needed to meet.

It was cold, and tingled, and chaste, and Clary held Isabelle's elbows, still pressing against her, but less aggressively. Isabelle opened her eyes for a brief moment, enough to see the burnished sweep of Clary's lashes against her cheek, and closed them again.

Just this once. And maybe second time.

Just these times, would she close her eyes.

Sometimes, it was nice not observing anything.

And, as Clary opened her lips on a sigh, Isabelle decided that sight was an overrated sense, and her tongue flicked out to taste the sunshine that was Clary Fray.

\---

"Magnus," Alec laughed against Magnus's insistent lips, pressed up against Magnus's closet by an enthusiastic and cunning mess of limbs and hair and smiles, "we have to get back downstairs."

"Eventually," Magnus murmured, and continued sucking on Alec's bottom lip, drawing a strangled sigh out of the taller man, whose hands grasping Magnus's shoulders were like an anchor pulling him down to blissful depths.

"Magnus, we-- ah!" Alec gasped as Magnus bit down on his lip and immediately soothed it with his tongue. Alec's hands went to frame Magnus's face, and after devouring his mouth for a few timeless moments, Alec pulled away, breathless, and said, "I'll trade you."

"You've been bargaining away your innocence all night, Lightwood," Magnus teased him, but pulled away so he could take off his still-sticky sweater and change.

"That I have," Alec agreed, watching Magnus pull off his sweater and undershirt. The older man's back rippled with muscle and lines, colors and words, stark lines dissolving into dips and divots.

Magnus peeked over his shoulder, flashed a bright grin at Alec, and pulled a soft grey long-sleeved sweater over his head, pulling it down and obscuring his art from view. "I designed most of it, and Gwen laid it down," he said. "Most of this, though," and he pulled up his sleeves to show his arms, cirlicues of words wrapping around his arms, "was done by me."

"I want to read you one day," Alec says, and surprises himself.

Magnus stops rolling his cuff and looks sharply up at Alec, and there he is with the broken-open unguarded look, the one that looks like a heady mixture between fear and hope and a deep, unnamed swell.

Alec doesn't say anything. Doesn't want to ruin the moment. He doesn't break his gaze, and Magnus keeps his eyes on Alec's, volumes passing between them in the span of a few moments. When Magnus drops his eyes to his cuffs, Alec nearly stumbles back from the intensity of snapping back into his own soul.

"And I, you," Magnus says. He raises his eyes to Alec's, and there is warmth and affection in them, and Alec is glad that it isn't as intense, because there was just so much a man could take.

\---

"Congratulations," a voice rang out, and Clary jerked back from where she had been carefully, experimentally, licking her way into Isabelle's pliant mouth.

"Huh?" she said rather inarticulately, and Simon rounded the corner, coats bundled into his arms and a smug look decorating his face.

"You have invented a new kind of sappy," he said, handing Izzy her coat.

"Simon--"

"A cheesiness-you-can-never-disprove kind of sappy," he said, and threw Clary her coat, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. His face was now decorated by a smirk, and he was entirely too calm. Behind her, Clary heard Isabelle scratch at the snow, and she schooled her face to stay calm.

"A first-kiss-in-the-snow-without-coats kind of sappy." Simon was enjoying himself way too much and in any other situation Clary would have already thrown a punch, but she stood her ground and shielded Isabelle.

"Truly," he concluded with a flourish, "you did not think this thro-- OOF!"

For Isabelle had just darted around Clary with two snowballs in her hands, thrown them both at Simon, and then darted round the building, her laughter ringing in the air as Clary followed her and scooped up snow on the fly, shaping it into a ball with a smile on her face as wide as Raphael's prepared fort outside the door of Biscuit.

\---

It wasn't a tradition, Magnus reflected as he stood by his window, leaning into Alec and watching the snowballs fly. But really, who said they couldn't start a tradition by themselves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIZZY YAY


	18. phone'll jingle, door'll knock, open the latch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD IF I WAS YOU I WOULDN'T BE HERE ANYMORE HOLY SHIT.  
> In my defense, I completed the last exam of my degree yesterday, which is also why this chapter is shorter.
> 
> It's a bit of a filler, yes. It's a bit sparse, yes. But I wanted to reassure you that A. I'm still here, B. So are the staff of Biscuit Bakery, and C. There will always be smut.
> 
> The cashier is my depiction of a dear twitter fandom friend, [Erika](https://twitter.com/HoosierDadaddio), who spent the past few days doing the Angel's work and bringing us pictures from Toronto. I was writing this chapter right as she was being treated pretty rudely by production, so I tried to make it nice. She'll be in the next chapter as well... just you wait!
> 
> If I wasn't clear at the beginning: guys. I'm so sorry for taking so long. But I'm back now. And I'm not going anywhere. I won't abandon this fic. Every review of yours makes me giggle like a deranged monkey. I love Magnus so much. People have put together moodboards for this fic LIKE HOLY SHIT. I'm here for a while. And I appreciate EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU.
> 
> Title is from West Side Story's [Something's Coming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xu7sRdRrm_w).

Christmas morning dawned bright and cold - colder than one might think. Cold in places it shouldn't be that cold in a heated apartment, but, well, this cold wasn't that unwelcome, really.

Alec shivered as Magnus licked his way down Alec's neck, stopping every now and then to suck a languid hickey into his neck, tongue laving over nibbled skin. They were both sleepy and too content to rush into anything, so every hickey took Magnus a deliciously painfully long time.

"Normally, I don't-- ahhh," Alec began, voice rough and low, "mind dedication and-- mmm, right--yes-- thorough work, but it's-- ahhhhh-- taking you too lo... mmmmm."

Magnus raised his head from Alec's nipple, quirked an eyebrow at him, grinned, and blew gently where his tongue was moments before. Alec hissed, his nipples hardening instantly.

"Too long?" Magnus inquired, moving down Alec's body until his smiling mouth was level with Alec's very obviously interested cock. "Too long until this?"

And then, with no warning, Magnus took Alec into his mouth and swallowed him until the head of Alec's cock hit the back of his throat.

The noise that came out of Alec was a cross between a roar and a shout, that flew into a whimper. Alec's hands scrabbled for purchase on Magnus's head, finally settling on holding his head like a precious, precious thing, fingers pressing into his temples as Alec choke-gasped out, "Fuc--c--ck, Magnus--ssss--s, ye-- FUCK."

Poetry. Magnus hummed his appreciation, and Alec's fingers pressed harder, thrusting into Magnus's mouth with abandon until he came with a sob, fingernails digging into Magnus's temples before Alec's grip relaxed.

Magnus drew his mouth off Alec, swallowing as he went (and earning another weak whimper from Alec), and coughed a bit. He wasn't expecting Alec to snap like that; there was something so calm and sleepy about Christmas morning, and he underestimated Alec's wakefulness.

He coughed again, and smiled to himself. The barely-there burn of a throat sore from... activities... wasn't as unpleasant as one would think. It wasn't anything that couldn't be taken care of with a good mug of hot cocoa.

"Did I hurt you?" Alec asked, his voice slightly high, and Magnus raised his head to look at Alec, whose eyes were wide and hands were at his sides, clenched into the sheets as if he was restraining himself.

Magnus shrugged. "Not really," he said hoarsely. "And I like it."

Alec's eyes went even wider, and he swallowed convulsively. Before he could stammer something out, Magnus leaned forwards and caught his lips in a kiss, bracketing Alec's torso with his arms.

"We have two choices," Magnus said when he pulled back. "I can either get up and make us hot cocoa, or we can stay in bed until Clary or Jace or Isabelle or Simon get too irritating on the group chat."

Alec licked his lips.

"Never mind," Magnus said, and pulled the covers over them as he snuggled into Alec's chest, forehead against Alec's collarbone. "I wanna stay here."

"What if I want hot cocoa?" Alec asked, and Magnus thrilled in the feeling of his rumbling voice before answering, "Make your own."

Alec chuckled and, arm over Magnus, pulled him in closer. "I'll leave the sweets to the baker," he said softly, and they both fell back asleep, cocooned in each other's warmth.

\---

Stomp, stomp.

Jace couldn't help but stomp his way to the nearest convenience store. It might have been childish, but he was long past caring about how childish he came off. This morning, for sure.

Because he just _knew_ that Izzy was wrapped around Clary, or the other way around, or well did it matter? No, because he was here, heading to a corner store on Christmas morning while everyone else had something to do.

"Or someone," he muttered to himself as he pushed the door open. He left his hood up, not in the mood to talk to anyone. He was just here to get his chocolate milk, circus cookies, and surplus candy corn.

Slamming said things down onto the counter, he looked at the gum and churlishly considered chewing up a wad and sticking it in Izzy's hair. Just... well, just because. He was bored. And resentful.

"Everything okay there, fella?" a cheerful voice permeated his cloud. He raised his head and saw the cashier, a pretty brown-haired women with tired eyes and a surprisingly genuine smile for someone who was working on Christmas morning.

"Not really," he heard himself say. He was so surprised that he said something that he looked behind him to see if someone else was there.

The cashier laughed. "Hangover?" she said sympathetically, ringing up his purchase. He looked back at her and half-shrugged. She hummed. "At least you're not working on Christmas morning," she said, and he grimaced.

"Oh, don't worry," she said, mistaking his grimace for commiseration. "I don't let things like this keep me down. It sucks, but at least I only have the morning shift." She shrugged. "I'll make it through. It's just a bump in the road."

Jace numbly handed over a ten-dollar bill and wondered how his life had come to this. Christmas morning, he was chatting up a random cashier in Rochester when he should be in bed, munching on entire bars of chocolate while watching a string of Christmas specials.

"Hey! It's Jace, right?"

Abandoning all pretense, Jace groaned out loud and turned around. The slight girl from the coffee shop - Hayley? Hannah? - was standing behind him, wrapped in a parka and jeans, holding a milk bottle. She tucked her burnished-gold hair behind her ear and assessed him, then sighed.

"They all abandon you?" she said, and he nodded. Thrusting the milk into his arms with a command to "wait here", she disappeared for a few minutes, coming back with more snacks and a grin.

"Forget them," she announced. "We're gonna celebrate Christmas with food and weird Youtube."

Jace could barely believe it, but he was looking forwards to it. As he grabbed a couple of the bags and struck up a hesitant conversation with the girl, his phone buzzed in his pocket, unnoticed.

\---

"I wish you'd come back to bed," Clary murmured, propped up against the headboard, her oversized sleep shirt leaving one shoulder bare.

Izzy, in one of her brother's t-shirts, frowned at her phone while pacing. "None of them are answering their phones," she said. "Alec I can understand, but what could Jace be doing?"

Clary shrugged and pulled up a corner of the comforter. "Come here and tell me all about it," she said. Izzy looked at her, at the blanket, at her phone, and finally gave up, bounding into bed and snuggling into Clary's side with a happy sigh.

There was a moment of silence, and then--

"Are you still texting?"

"I gotta!" Izzy exploded. "I get a cryptic text from an unknown number that can only be Lydia, and then my father texts me, of all people, and if they know where I am, they know where Alec is, and they deserve war--mmmph."

Clary bit down gently on Izzy's bottom lip, then released it and drew back, grinning. "I realize this is a serious situation," she said gently, "and I won't dramatically pull your phone away from you or anything, but-- you've texted them both. You've done what you can. So unless you want to walk in on them naked--"

"--they might be covered, Alec needs to know--"  
"--or in the middle of some particularly nasty sex that a sister should _never_ have to see her brother engaged in," Clary continued blithely, and Izzy gagged, "you should say no to this."

Izzy frowned. "I don't want them to be caught unaware," she said. "I feel like I should protect them."

"Isabelle," Clary said, "let it go. Don't hunt them down."

"Show me how to say no to this," Izzy said dramatically, and Clary laughed with a glint in her eyes.

"How about I show you how to say yes?" she murmured.

\---

"Fuck!"

Magnus's eyes flew open. He saw Alec spring out of bed and rush into his shorts, nearly tripping over his own legs as he pulled them up hastily.

"Alec, what's going on?" Magnus said thickly, sneaking a glance at the clock. It was 10 AM - a perfectly reasonable time for Christmas morning sleep-ins. "What's--"

"Shit!" Alec cursed again, and Magnus's eyebrows went up. He was slowly shaking off the pleasant cloud of sleep; he didn't really want to, but it wasn't much fun alone and he had a feeling that Alec was long gone into a less peaceful state of mind, if to judge by the speed with which Alec was dressing himself.

"Alexander," Magnus said, voice stronger now, and Alec paused, "what's going on?"

Alec turned to Magnus, and the fear in his eyes was enough to make Magnus slip out of bed and pull on his boxers as well.

"They're here," Alec said, and Magnus shivered.

It was going to be a long day.


	19. drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, romeo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK MOFOS and here's some yummy nummy plot. Lydia's here, so is Elias, and there's another character who's there but not speaking yet but you'll meet him in the next chapter and, well, book stans? Will hate me.
> 
> This was lots of fun to write. We get substantial plot, some mystery, and a tiny bit of fluff! But mostly plot! Please don't hate me!
> 
> Title is from My Chemical Romance's [The Sharpest Lives](https://youtu.be/tKXS5VOAbUs).

“Alec, where are you going?”

Raising his head from tying his laces, Alec could only stare. Magnus, dressed in a pair of worn jeans and an oversized sweater (his sweater?), was sitting on the sofa across from his bed, back straight, arms crossed over his chest, feet flat on the floor. He looked like he was trying to be defiant and hugging himself at the same time, a look that would be endearing if Alec didn’t feel like something electric was sparking through his veins and painfully spurring him into action.

“To meet my parents,” Alec said, slowly, staring at Magnus. “Isn’t that--”

“Why?” Magnus interrupted him, expression completely level. His arms relaxed; the effect was similar to slamming a book in Alec’s face. He couldn’t read Magnus at all. It was like trying to decipher a blank piece of paper. Or a stone wall.

A thread of nauseating fear sprung up aside the electricity in his veins. Suddenly, Alec felt lightheaded. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, mirroring Magnus’s position.

For a brief moment, they were opposing sides of the same coin. And then Alec rose, movements controlled and powerful as he finished tying his laces and shrugged on the borrowed parka from Biscuit.

“I have to,” Alec said tightly, hands in his pockets. “This story is far from over, and they know, and I know, and this is really bad if they’re here.” He paused, noting how Magnus’s eyes flickered but didn’t melt into that understanding and warm, cherishing gaze that Alec luxuriated in at every opportunity.

“Magnus,” he started, and in a flash the older man was on his feet, his hands grasping Alec’s wrists gently, his eyes searching Alec’s own. They were close enough that Alec could smell Magnus’s hair, a trace of warmth and shampoo and cinnamon; Magnus was trying to keep his cool, but his thumbs smoothing themselves over Alec’s pulse points belayed his anxiousness.

“I want to help,” he said softly, and Alec nearly fell apart.

He shook his head and ducked it. His eyes prickled with tears. “No,” he said thickly. “I can’t pull you into this as well. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Alec,” Magnus said softly, propping up Alec's head with fingers under his chin and locking him in with an earnest gaze that nearly caused the tears in Alec’s eyes to spill over, “I’m in this already. I’m with you. I want to h--”

Alec shook his head with a gasping laugh and dove forward, mouth colliding with Magnus’s like fireworks exploding. His hands slipped out of his pockets and grasped Magnus’s hands, fingers interlocking as something in Alec’s soul slotted in perfectly with a final exhilarating click.

It sounded like a promise. It sounded like a threat. And it told Alec exactly what he had to do.

Pulling back from the kiss, Alec kissed Magnus’s forehead and said, voice muffled by Magnus’s hair, “I love you, Magnus.” The soft gasp that Magnus let out didn’t stop Alec from pulling away (after dropping another kiss onto Magnus’s forehead) and saying, “I need to face this on my own. I can’t get you tangled up in it. I want you to be safe.”

Magnus hesitated, and then - to Alec’s surprise - he nodded. “I’ll allow it,” he joked, flashing a tense smile, and as Alec rushed down the stairs and towards the motel, his heart soared, even if just a little bit.

\---

Christmas morning was not the best time to be out. Everyone was ensconced with their families in front of trees or just lazing around in bed, and if it was snowing it made it even lonelier outside - silent and cold, the kind of scene that was better appreciated when viewed through a window while sipping hot cocoa.

Snow wasn’t as magical when you were walking through it, quickly, in striking knee high deep purple boots that were leather, but lace-ups, and boasted four inch heels besides.

Isabelle, wrapped in a long black trench coat with one of Clary’s knobby knit hats jammed down and over her ears, shivered and kept her hands in her pockets. Fingerless gloves made for a practical tactical choice, but no enemies were anywhere nearby and her fingers were already freezing off.

As she trudged through the snow towards the motel, all she could hear was the crunch of the snow under her boots and the annoyed huffs she let out intermittently. Her hat was snug enough so that even if someone were to walk up behind her, she wouldn't hear them; the state of her ears, however, were more important at the moment than facilitating her tracking skills.

And then Lydia said, “Wow, you haven’t trained in a while, have you,” from right behind her, and Isabelle cursed, spun around, and glared at the stoic blonde, wrapped in a parka, her perfectly braided hair in place and ruby red lips curved into a smile.

“I’m cold,” Isabelle bit out, and Lydia clucked sympathetically, the smile never wavering. Isabelle straightened her posture, jamming her hands deeper into her pockets, and copied Lydia’s stance, except her expression, which stayed furious.

But before she could lace into her, Lydia held up her hand to stop her. “You were always the more calculated one, Iz,” she said. “I need you to solve this equation for me.”

“Jealousy,” Isabelle answered smoothly, and Lydia blinked. “Well,” Isabelle elaborated, “we seemed to be on the right path of investigation for once, and when Alec arrived stateside and came to you for help, you wanted in on the action. So you bided yiur time, and then called my parents - which is a dick move, by the way --”

“So wrong,” Lydia cut Isabelle off crisply, eyes glinting-- and then the corners of her mouth curved up and she continued gently, “but not incorrect.

“I helped Alec when he came here, with logistics and otherwise. He told me about the Lightwood household after I left - how lost you were, how confused and angry you became. He told me about Jace, and the training, and the constant desire to keep on investigating this big family secret.”

Lydia took a deep breath and hugged herself - or crossed her arms over her chest. Both movements were similar, and in any case Isabelle got the feeling that Lydia was trying to protect herself from what she was going to say next.

“And then I told him the truth,” she whispered. “That my parents were in the Syndicate. That they disappeared into the system - as higher up operatives or as peons who were wasted on some dumb mission. I don’t know. But I made it my life’s mission to track them down--”

“And kill them?” Isabelle asked, eyes going wide.

Lydia shook her head, a ghost of her mocking smile dancing across her lips. “No. I found them. I collected information on them. And right before I turned over their location to the CIA, I let certain crucial details slip to a few loyal friends with similar circumstances.” She shrugged, the smile strengthening and turning deceptively innocent. “It’s not my fault that our boys in Langley aren’t always as fast as some very pissed off former Green Berets with delusions of grandeur and a chip on their shoulder.”

Isabelle huffed out a short laugh. Lydia smiled for a brief moment, but then her face rearranged itself into a stern and chagrined expression.

“I have never seen Alec so scary,” she said softly. “And it,s not that he threatened me. He just said he was tired. So I went to my room knowing that he wouldn’t be there in the morning, but I didn’t expect to wake up to all my spare passports piled on my coffee table and my set of handmade katanas gone.”

“I wonder who bought them,” Isabelle wondered out loud; Lydia snorted and continued.

“I called around and tried to find him, but he had completely dropped off the grid. He had to have gone pretty deep in order for me to not find him, and deep he went. Until he resurfaced, according to my contacts at least, as a busboy in a bakery in Rochester.”

Isabelle grinned at Lydia’s disbelieving tone. “Why are you so surprised?” she asked Lydia in a teasing tone. “Alec was always good at finding a way around anything thrown his way. He doesn’t look down on manual labor.”

Lydia shook her head. “It’s not that he’s a busboy. It’s that he’s in Rochester. Because this is where the last of the Syndicate is based.”

Isabelle felt as if someone had punched the air out of her. “They’re here?” she gasped. “In-- in this city?”

Lydia nodded, and grasped Isabelle’s shoulder. “They’re at the university. Under the library. Entrance is from the door behind the rosebushes. Be careful.”

“How did you know--”

Lydia smiled bitterly. “It’s my job to know things. I might as well do _something_ right.”

\---

“Why are we outside.”

Raphael grinned. “That was a statement,” he said seriously, his crinkling eyes the only proof that he was kidding.

“I’d stick out my tongue in retaliation,” Simon said pensively, his voice muffled by his parka’s collar covering his mouth and a knit scarf over that, “but it’s too cold outside. Also, you might see it as an invitation to initiate outside snow sex, which is possibly the only form of sex I would say no to, since I don’t want to freeze my ass off.”

“What a loss that would be to the world,” Raphael teased, his smile growing wider.

Simon stared at him. “You don’t get that,” he said, half-accusing. “I totally set you up for that. You don’t get credit for that woefully unoriginal joke.”

They were standing outside of Raphael’s apartment, watching the snow falling. Simon only agreed to join him after an extraordinarily attentive shower rendered him speechless and a promise of watching an entire season of M*A*S*H was dutifully doled out.

Simon, who grew up watching the snow from his mom’s living room window, didn’t understand why Raphael insisted on leaving his cozy apartment to see frozen precipitation. In order for Raphael to explain why it was so important to him, he would have to tell Simon about his childhood in Washington Heights - an endeavor he wasn’t prepared to embark upon just yet, especially on Christmas morning. So he just simply said, “I love the snow”, mentally gave up on doing anything but standing there and watching it fall, and dragged Simon along with him.

“I lived in an apartment building on the road next to a hospital,” Raphael suddenly said. Simon’s head turned towards him. “Any time it snowed, our street was the first to be cleared, within hours of the snow starting. By the time we woke up, there was only ever dirty slush to play with, if you were willing to brave the sprays of freezing sleet sprayed at us by ambulance drivers rushing by.”

Raphael looked over at Simon, quickly, and Simon caught his gaze. He saw acceptance in his eyes, understanding. Maybe he was just fooling himself, that there was so much emotion in the other boy’s gaze; or maybe it was that Simon looked at him so often as if he never wanted to look away.

Raphael wasn’t used to people wanting to look at him. Or wanting anything in relation to him. Maybe just to kill him. But, as Simon tugged him forwards and leaned his forehead against his own, not breaking eye contact, Raphael thought he probably doesn’t want to kill me.

For some mysterious reason, the alternative was far more frightening.

Raphael kissed Simon’s forehead and wrapped him in a hug, expelling a deep breath. A huff of laughter came from somewhere around where Simon’s face was likely to be, under layers of coats. Raphael grinned to himself, bracing for the inevitable snarky comment, when a flash of movement from across the street caught his eye.

A young man, slender and impeccably dressed, was walking fast, hands in his pockets. Raphael would have dismissed him, if not for the row of silver rings in his earlobe.

His eyes narrowed. The man looked familiar at first, and that row of silver made it even more probable.

The man looked over at Raphael. Honey eyes widened with recognition, and he picked up his pace. But Raphael was already on the move, letting go of Simon and sprinting across the street, turning towards the man who had meanwhile tried to run back the way he came.

But Raphael was too close, too fast, too incensed, to let his escape. Grabbing his forearm with a tight grip, he exclaimed, a smile curving his lips upwards but leaving his eyes cold and sharp, “Elias! What a pleasant surprise!”

“I would say the same, Santi,” Elias retorted, voice as smooth as ever, “but I’m late to a very important and highly anticipated appointment. So let go of me.”

“You’re not an idiot, Elias,” Raphael said, smoothness matching Elias’s voice, “so you must remember that I was never that good at obeying your orders.”

“Things have changed.” Elias’s eyes glinted. “You’ve fallen from grace. I’ve rose to power.”

“Well, they do say that shit floats, so that makes sense.”

Elias scowled, but then he looked over Raphael’s shoulder and his eyes widened. “Why, Simon!” he exclaimed. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“You’re a shitbag, Elias,” Simon said dryly from right besides Raphael. “Why are you back here, you complete waste of neurons?”

Elias stared at him. “With a man like Alec Lightwood in your midst for so long,” he breathed, shock coloring his every word, “you really don’t know?”

Red colored Raphael’s vision; before he knew it, he had slammed Elias up against the wall, shaking loose the man’s phone from his other hand. It clattered to the ground and burst open like a ripe fruit, scattering bits around itself, right next to Simon’s feet.

Elias scowled. “Destruction of property, Santi. Very old school of you.”

“Wait,” Simon said, confused. “You know this guy?”

Raphael ignored Simon for now. There were far more important issues at stake. “Elias,” he growled. “Why are you here?”

But by now, Elias had reassumed his arrogant air, even adding a smirk for maximum irritation. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he drawled. Gaze flicking over to Simon, he added, “So now you’re into young impressionable men? Wonder what Becca would think.”

“I have half a mind to bring you in right now,” Raphael hissed, rage spiking with worry over Simon’s reaction to Elias’s insinuation. The mention of Rebecca brought on a fresh wave of pain, but Raphael shouldered it mentally and refocused.

“But you can’t,” Elias countered with a knowing smirk. “So let go of me now before you make it worse.”

Raphael tightened his grip, watching Elias’s face for any reaction. When he didn’t get any, he let go and watched as the other man calmly leaned down, collected his phone - Simon immobile the whole time - and walked away quickly, nearly running, without adding any more taunts.

The silence of Christmas morning was suddenly deafening. It wasn't adorable or calming, it was just… oppressive.

Raphael turned towards Simon, scrabbling inside his head for the words to explain what just happened. The gaze he met was no longer honest and open, but narrowed and calculated.

“That’s the Elias from the bakery,” Simon said quietly. “You started working at Biscuit after he made off with the money.”

“Simon--” Raphael started desperately, but Simon continued.

“Which simultaneously makes it worse and better,” Simon said grimly, and then he leaned down. For a bizarre split second Raphael thought Simon was bending knee to propose to him, but then Simon held up a miniscule black plastic square and smiled thinly.

“At least I have his memory card for starters. We can find out what he’s up to.”

\---

Now, where was his thigh holster?

Magnus frowned at his sock drawer. It was full of socks and sundry, but also hid some of his weapons, memory of a grimmer time when he had to close the tattoo parlor at night and the people who tried holding him up knew how to disarm guns.

Nunchucks are useful. So are brass knuckles. And if all else failed, a false pocket bottom led to a .22 strapped to his thigh, which was his personal favorite.

He had dug up his weapons after Elias had absconded with the money, re-training with them as he berated himself for being so blind to Elias’s true intentions. There were some really bad days, days where he threw the throwing stars into the wall and imagined it was himself. Or Elias. Or his parents.

But mostly himself.

But now, as he gave up on the thigh holster and moved around his closet in search for the elusive brass knuckles, adrenaline spiked through his blood. He wasn’t going to sit by quietly and watch someone he loved get into trouble. He was going to fight alongside Alec, because any attack on Alec was an attack on him.

Even if it was just incredibly irate parents.

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Magnus laughed. “Be with you in a moment, love,” he called, exalting in the surefire way the term of endearment rolled off his tongue, and then froze when he heard the next sentence.

“I look forwards to it, Magnus Bane.”

 _Elias_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purpose of this story, Raphael started working at Biscuit after the Elias debacle. I'll check back in the early chapters and make the necessary adjustments to make it timeline compliant.


	20. there’s fantasy, there’s fallacy, there’s tumbling stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter before October, unless a miracle occurs and I finish my requirements for my degree before September ends. So unlike the unofficial hiatuses, this one is official, but I promise that I'll continue this fic.
> 
> I've been doubting myself lots lately, for many reasons. I doubt my writing, my academic integrity, my job... and then I come back here, and I read your comments, and sometimes a comment can keep me afloat for an entire day. So even if you just comment one word, you should know that you are immensely important to me.
> 
> This one's more dramatic, but we're nearing the climax (ehehehe FORGIVE ME I'M IN A WEIRD MOOD TODAY). So bear with me. Also, assume that Raphael and the Lightwood parents are telling the exact same story. For continuity's sake.
> 
> Title is from Florence + The Machine's [Heartlines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waiB8mWOJOA). [This](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLK6MhAk0XSRYmjOIzU3o1bKI2aBpLjWvF) is the playlist with all the title songs.

“See,” Hayley commented, brow furrowed, “I was expecting you to go easy straight off the bat.”

Jace snorted, flicked a button, and released a blue shell, neutralizing Hayley’s Tanuki Mario as he sped past her. “Why the hell would I go easy if--” another flick, an impressive jump “--I had no intention of losing?”

Hayley shrugged, biting her bottom lip as her fingers twitched over her controller, as if practicing a strategy she had only mapped out in her head. Jace watched, fascinated.

“You strike me,” she said slowly, “as the type of guy who would underestimate a girl like me.” She made a pretty impressive jump herself, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth, but she was still three places behind Jace. He flicked his gaze back at the screen to make sure that his fingers flying instinctively over the controls were indeed keeping him ahead of Hayley, and then turned to her, fingers still flitting over the control, to raise one eyebrow at her.

"Really?" he said. "You've met Izzy. Do you really think I'm some chauvinist pig?"

Hayley smiled, angelic features lighting up as her smile grew, and she answered mildly, "No, but I think you're easily insulted and react quickly when that happens."

“What--” he started, confused, and then he heard the race end. Spinning around, he saw Tanuki Mario celebrating in his car in first place, and Princess Peach was just sitting there, probably feeling as big of a dunce as Jace felt, just sitting there. Only his mouth was agape.

“Never underestimate the cunning and dexterity of a woman with five younger siblings who still owns her original phone charging cable,” Hayley said loftily, the high and mighty carriage spoiled by her insouciant grin. Jace couldn’t help but to snicker at that, and Hayley flicked the screen back to the Youtube menu, chuckling along with him.

"Five siblings and yet you're here for Christmas," he mused, and Hayley's face fell.

Jace realized what had happened too late; even as he opened his mouth to apologize, Hayley waved it off with a tight smile. "It's okay," she said, "you had no way of knowing."

"Knowing what?" he said, and immediately followed that with a stricken "You don't have to answer that. I don't even know why I asked it. I have a big mouth and no filter sometimes, I'm sorry--"

Hayley threw a (closed) bag of Cheetos at his face. While he was spluttering, she said simply, "I can't afford to fly home for every holiday, so I pick and choose. Christmas was too short of a break this time, and I'm between jobs, so I'm saving up for Passover." She waved at the game console and screen in front of them. "Roommates."

Jace opened and closed his mouth, then repeated the action, slower. He never had to worry about money as a child, and now was no different; it struck him, suddenly, that this brilliant woman could be somewhere else entirely if her circumstances were better.

"Jace," she said, pulling him out of his reverie, "snap out of it."

He shook his head and looked down at his hands. "Sorry," he said lamely.

She shook her head and sighed exasperatedly. "Don't apologize for things that aren't your fault is possibly the most important rule in my household." Putting a finger on the tip of his nose and raising his head while giving him a snout, she stared into his eyes seriously until the mirth crowding the corners of her eyes gave way and she erupted into giggles, unable to stay serious while holding Jace's nose like that.

As Jace grabbed his controller and switched back to the Mario Kart menu, demanding a rematch, he reassessed the young woman sitting next to him with a glance. One that was far less fleeting.

\---

"We don't have to explain anything to you, Alexander," Maryse hissed, standing toe to toe with Alec.

Sometimes, he forgot that his mother wasn't as short as she wanted the enemy to think she was. Her formidable personality was only aided by the towering heels she wore, a habit that Izzy had picked up with great skill.

"Enough," he bit out. "Enough with the secrecy. Trying to play power games--"

"Why do you think you have power, Alec?" she shot back, her eyes sparking with anger. "Why do you think you have any say in this--"

"Because you're back," he retorted. "You came back, even though all evidence says that you have about 36 more hours before the CIA has to pull you in--"

"Don't underestimate our contacts, Alec," Robert interjected, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face as he stood a safe distance from his wife and son.

Alec just raised one eyebrow at him. "I do," he said, "because if they're good enough to keep two former Syndicate members from being arrested on the spot, they would have been good enough to find me earlier."

"They weren't looking, Alexander," Maryse hissed. "The minute you turned 18, you were your own person. We don't have the kind of clout to set them on your trail as an adult."

Alec stared at her, then abruptly narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to lull me into a false sense of superiority by divulging a cosmetic weakness," he said softly, his words echoing in the empty, unfinished chamber they were standing in. "It's not going to work."

"Maryse," Robert said, "he needs to know."

She whirled towards her husband. "He doesn't deserve--"

"Who are you to tell me what I deserve?" Alec shouted. Maryse ignored him.

Robert held up his palm. "I didn't say he deserved it, I said he needs to know. As much as you'd like to punish each other, now is not the time. He's involved in this."

Maryse didn't move. Alec rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest; he didn't care if he was mimicking his father. He was always the more reasonable one.

"Maryse," Robert said quietly, icily, his gaze hard, "would you really push your need for revenge so far as to put Alec in danger?"

Maryse's shoulders slumped, and she hung her head as Alec uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets uncomfortably, not able to meet his father's eyes.

For the first time since he climbed onto the bus to Rochester, the thought that he was being quite selfish flit through his head. This time, however, he didn't wave it away, but let it burrow into his mind. He hunched forwards, minimizing himself in the room, as he thought back over the past few years, over the subterfuge and desperate push for more knowledge.

It was never crucial to his existence, he realized, and closed his eyes. It was just... _wrong_. All he wanted to do was to make it right, and this is where it had gotten them.

"Man, Alec, you're picking up on Magnus's drama queen streak, aren't you?" Isabelle's voice rang from the doorway, and she stepped down the roughly hewn stairs from the door into the dark room. Glancing around her, she commented idly, "Bit dingy. What is this, an old maintenance room?"

Alec shrugged, and then frowned. "What do you mean, drama queen?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You... Alec, you said that last part out loud."

Alec closed his eyes and groaned. "Fuck," he cursed, and saw - with no little measure of satisfaction - his mother flinch and his father sigh. "But no," he said smoothly, ignoring his hammering heart, "it's all Simon's fault. Magnus is more... precise... with his words."

Isabelle grinned widely, and then turned to her parents, businesslike, the smile quickly replaced by a grim slash of burgundy.

"Unless you want us both to be in danger," she said flatly, "because this one here--" she pointed at Alec, who thought to protest but decided against it "--will storm into anything he deems dangerous without being prepared, you better tell us what the hell is going on."

\---

Raphael spent about half an hour making 2 cups of tea. First he boiled the water, then he took out two mugs, and then he dropped one when he remembered Elias mentioning Becca. Cleaning it up took a while, since of _course_ it didn't break in the sink so Raphael had to sweep the pieces up.

Then, he took out another mug, carefully schooling his shaking hands into more of a light tremor, and then decided to clean out the electric kettle with citric acid because it was looking kind of chalky. The search for the acid took another seven minutes; as he spilled out the salty water and replaced it with clear water, he realized that he had been so engrossed in avoiding the living room that he had literally _descaled his boyfriend's kettle_ to avoid him and really, that in itself deserved some sort of weird award.

Raphael waited until the kettle boiled again, then poured it out and refilled it, deeming it clean enough. When he had flicked the button on, he gripped the edge of the counter and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

This was it. Any more stalling and he'd be scrubbing their oven.

Soon enough, he was carefully making his way to the living room with two mugs of tea. Simon, who was clicking away furiously on his mechanical keyboard, didn't spare him a glance. His mouth got slightly tighter, but the pace of the typing never abated.

Raphael put the mugs down on the table and sat on the armchair, slumping back into it and crossing his arms over his chest, watching Simon.

His mind was a jumble of thoughts, memories and feelings, each one racing after the next with increasing speed. Raphael felt the corner of his eye twitch, and he growled. He couldn't - shouldn't - wouldn't keep it to himself.

Here goes.

"My mom was shot in a drive-by when I was fourteen by members of a crime organization called the Syndicate," he blurted out, not changing position. If anything, his arms felt glued to his chest, as if he was protecting himself from something.

Simon's fingers froze on the keyboard, but his gaze stayed glued to the screen.

"I grew up in a tough neighborhood," Raphael rushed on, "and young boys were taught that anger should be their fuel. So I was angry, and I grew up angry, and when my dad was fired I became angry enough to drop out of high school and look for a job."

Simon raised his gaze from the screen, but still didn't meet Raphael's gaze.

"And, of course," Raphael added, speaking faster, "I was looking for revenge. So when I got a job with a dealer in my neighborhood with ties to the Syndicate, it seemed like things were finally going my way."

"And did they?" Simon said, subdued, still staring at the wall, still refusing to look Raphael's way.

"At the beginning, yes," Raphael admitted, a sickening bloom of shame opening its petals inside him. "I earned money, I climbed the ranks, I sent my father to live somewhere else. I was on my way to becoming a regional director when the Lightwoods blazed in."

Simon finally looked at Raphael. His lips were a thin line, but his eyes were wide. Asking.

"According to Valentine," Raphael said, "they were sleepers. He needed them in the government more than he needed them in the Syndicate, and he brought them in on the eve of his international expansion. They had been feeding him information from within the State Department."

"Fuck," Simon breathed, and Raphael waved his hand.

"Becca told me that they built them some elaborate false info profiles. They didn't give anything truly lethal."

"Who's Becca?" Simon interrupted.

Raphael sighed. "About the time when the Lightwoods were introduced into the Syndicate upper echelons," he said, "I contacted the FBI and offered to become an informant. I had been... irate, that these newcomers had climbed higher and faster than me, and that's when I realized that I was losing sight of revenge in favor of power.

"Becca was my handler. When the Lightwoods came in I respected her wishes and didn't contact them or even talk to them for fear of blowing the whole operation to bring the Syndicate down. It..." Raphael shook his head. "It wasn't easy. But it didn't matter."

"What happened?"

\---

"At the last minute, Valentine's suspicions got the better of him, and of us," Maryse said bitterly. She was still standing in the middle of the room, back straight, head held high. But her eyes were hooded, clouded with shame or pain.

Isabelle was mirroring her brother's stance as they leaned against the wall. Her arms were crossed under her chest, Alec's hands were in his pockets.

Robert stood by Maryse's side, hands in his pockets. He had opened the story, telling Alec and Isabelle about their time in the State Department, about their friendship with Valentine being turned against them, about their consultations with the FBI, about their undercover work.

Maryse had taken over when he reached their entry into the Syndicate. She had started out steely. Now, she was stony.

"When the SWAT team broke into the headquarters, they arrested everyone, but Valentine wasn't there. Instead, he had left a note, stapled to the forehead of his dead bodyguard, informing them that he knew that we were the leak. Agent Garroway rushed to our home to warn us, and we left the country that night."

There was silence in the room, and for a brief, hazy moment, Alec felt as if he didn't know anyone there. They were strangers, pillars of silence and history. But then Isabelle spoke.

"I remember that night," she said. "Alec got us out of bed before you even came in."

Maryse nodded jerkily.

"Did they catch him?" Alec asked quietly. Robert turned towards him and nodded.

"He was shot while they were trying to take him in. He died smiling, since apparently, he still had someone to do his bidding, which is what he told the agents before he died."

"And that's the reason we were sheltered our whole lives?" Isabelle asked. "Because you thought that Valentine's leftovers would kill us?"

"They're not just any leftovers, Izzy," Alec said. "Remember the file?"

"Which part of it?" she snapped, and then her face cleared and realization dawned. "Oh. OH."

\---

"His son?" a voice echoed from the hallway.

Raphael raised his gaze and Simon whipped his head around. Clary, in a sweatshirt and pajama pants, stood there, shock etched into her face.

"Shocked that he found a woman that was willing to sleep with him?" Simon said quickly, flashing a querulous smile.

"More shocked that you did," Clary shot back, and Raphael snorted. Simon glared at him, then turned back to Clary. "How much did you hear?" he asked.

Clary pointed at the wall.

"All of it, then."

She nodded.

Raphael looked at her, then at Simon, then up at the ceiling. "This is my life," he muttered to himself.

"Get used to it," Simon said, turning back to the computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard once more.

"So this kid is still out there, and he's running the Syndicate?" Clary asked, padding into the living room and sitting next to Simon.

Raphael nodded. "What's left of it, at least. And yet, don't underestimate Sebastian. He was sheltered and taught by some pretty ruthless people. If he's anything like his father, his empire might be small, but it's dangerous. And he's smart enough to have stayed alive and out of the authorities' grasp."

"And Elias is back in town," Simon informed Clary, who swore, "and he's part of the Syndicate."

\---

"Hang on," Alec interrupted his parents, pushing himself off the wall, his mind sorting through this pile of new information, "this guy. Elias. How long has he been in the Syndicate?"

"He joined a few weeks after we did," Robert said slowly. "Why?"

But Isabelle was alert as well, eyes wide and trained on her brother as she slowly came to the same realization.

"The Syndicate wants to make the Lightwoods suffer, Alec," Maryse said urgently, seeing the wildness in Alec's eyes. "Don't make it easier for them."

Alec laughed a short, mirthless laugh, sliding his phone out of his pocket. "Oh," he said, bounding up the steps with Isabelle on his trail and his parents hurrying after him, "I already have."

\---

"It was like taking candy from a tall, moody Lightwood baby, Mr. Morgenstern," Elias's smooth voice permeated through the black hood covering Magnus's head.

He had barely resisted, but he hadn't made it any easier, letting himself go limp and forcing the man who conned him to drag dead weight all the way down the stairs and into the car, then out the car and into what sounded like a warehouse.

He was bruised, for sure, but he was mostly numb. The last time Elias had touched him, it was a caress. Now, his hand gripped Magnus's upper arm like a vise.

"You shacked up with this man for a year, Elias?" a young, lazy voice said from in front of him, and Elias must have nodded because Mr. Morgenstern let out a high laugh.

"All right then, to each their own. Tie him to the chair."

Magnus was shoved down onto a chair, to which he was bound with thick rope. His legs were tied as well, and only then did Elias pull off his hood.

Magnus blinked his eyes open, looked around him, and laughed.

"For someone who's tied to a chair," the man in front of him commented idly, "you're in very good humor."

"I have every reason to," Magnus said airily. "You've tied me to a barebones chair on the ground floor of an open-plan and abandoned warehouse. You're--" he squinted "--yup, that's natural blonde, but really light, kudos on that. And you're dressed in all leather. Also," he continued, his grin growing wider, "you brought me here in a hood. But we're still in Rochester. I mean," and here he sniggered, "you really couldn't be more cliche if you tried."

"I could shoot out your kneecaps," Elias suggested darkly, and Magnus threw his head back and laughed.

"You're kidding, right?" he gasped. "That's even worse! That makes it more of a cliche!"

The blonde man - presumably Mr. Morgenstern - rolled his eyes and sighed, and Magnus sighed happily.

"And you've just confirmed that I'm bait, therefore you won't kill me," he said easily. "So I can say whatever I want, and you can't do anything."

The blonde man smiled, and it was as if all the warm air was sucked away from Magnus. The man was cold. He was cruel. And his eyes were as hard and black as obsidian.

"The art of the compromise, Mr. Bane," he said, pushing himself off the table he was leaning on and approaching Magnus with a wad of cloth in his clenched hand. "We have to keep you alive, but--" and here he stuffed the gag into Magnus's mouth and secured it with a piece of duct tape "--we don't have to hear you talk until the Lightwoods get here."

_The Lightwoods._

Magnus's heart sunk. He knew this had something to do with Alec's parents being in town, but only now was his hunch confirmed. He was bait for Alec.

_Alec was coming for him._

_And walking into a trap._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And really, you should all be thanking [my parabatai](http://alexidon.tumblr.com) for listening to my tired/drunk ramblings about this fic at any hour of the day. She's my soundboard, and she's frikkin awesome, so show her some love!
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> (secret cookies to whoever spots the Dan and Phil reference)


	21. i thought i was an atheist until i realized I'm a god

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm.
> 
> So.
> 
> Hi.
> 
> I'm back for real. I have an idea for this fic. I know how it's going to end. I have the next two chapters roughed out on my computer. You might just get another chapter before the end of November, because I'm that good at procrastination and I'm trying to do NaNoWriMo this year, but only God knows. In any case, rest assured - I am back, to stay, and I'm so glad to be back. It feels good, reacquainting myself with my writing side. I like it. I think I'll keep it.
> 
> Mild warning: violence, and serious cliffhanger.
> 
> Everything you didn't understand will be explained in the next chapter. Also, Isabelle is bae and sassy!Magnus is bae.
> 
> Title is from Watsky's [Whoa Whoa Whoa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=noO8PKZ34wo).

Magnus held his breath, black dots swimming in front of his vision, and then he started twitching as if he was losing control of his body, at which point Elias scoffed and pulled the gag out of his mouth. Grinning internally - after all, the man had just given Magnus back control of his best weapon - he took stock of his surroundings.

The interior of the warehouse was spare and cold, save but for a few glinting red lights scattered around the room, as warehouses tend to have. Magnus squinted at the walls, a tendril of a question in the back of his mind, and then Elias punched him.

Somehow, it took a glancing fist to the jaw for it to finally sink in. This wasn’t just another game, this wasn’t something he could joke his way out of. And as Elias slid his fingers into his hair and pulled his head up, hard, Magnus set his jaw, internally wincing at the wave of pain it elicited, and prepared himself for… well, a beating.

“Come now,” Sebastian drawled, leaning against a table, arms crossed over his chest and his humorless grin twisting his face into something feral, “we can’t damage him. He still needs to look alive when the Lightwoods get here. Well,” he shrugged, his grin growing just a tad wider, “at least one of them.”

“Especially one of them,” Elias said, trying to catch Magnus’s gaze. He looked aside, whistling; Elias growled and grabbed his jaw, turning his face towards him and moving in closer. Magnus kept his eyes looking sideways, and stuck out his tongue for good measure. Elias fell silent, then let go of him abruptly and walked away, fingers twitching at his side.

Magnus grinned one of his own, entirely too smug for his own good, and raised an eyebrow at Sebastian when he realized that he was looking at him. “See something you like?” he drawled.

Sebastian shrugged. “Not really,” he said airily. “I prefer my partners slightly more malleable.”

“I’m sure you and Elias are wonderful together,” Magnus said archly. “You’re a sadistic motherfucker and Elias has such little backbone he’s practically a jellyfish.”

Elias whirled around at that, eyes flashing, but Sebastian laughed. “Do you really think I’d sleep with underlings?” he exclaimed. “No, no, Magnus. That’s  _ your _ thing.”

Magnus’s stomach knotted up and he grimaced, unable to keep back the fresh wave of guilt even as Sebastian laughed at the response. Pushing it aside, he cocked his head and looked at Sebastian. “What do you want with the Lightwoods, exactly?” he asked.

Sebastian spread his arms. “Well, isn’t it obvious?”

Magnus stared at him. “No, it really isn’t,” he said flatly.

Sebastian’s grin fell a bit, and he sighed. “I mean, I might as well tell you,” he said conversationally. “It’s not like we have anything better to do.”

\---

“Dude, your phone’s vibrating like crazy and it’s really jeopardizing the tower,” Hayley muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Jace, who was about to start construction on another facet of the 3D card tower, grimaced and moved away slowly, until he was in the kitchenette, where he could safely check his messages and missed calls.

And there were lots. Brow furrowing, he shuffled through the, all with growing alarm, eyebrows rising as he read texts from Izzy and one hurried one from Alec. Shooting off inquiring texts back, he called Simon, who had called him about five times in the past seven minutes.

“Simon, what--”

“I don’t know what or who you’re doing, but you better head over to Clary’s right now,” Simon said breathlessly. “We have a situation.”

Jace was already storming back into the living room, snatching his coat out from under Hayley, making her squeal and topple the extravagant tower. He ignored her glare as he shoved one arm into a sleeve and shifted the phone to his other hand so he could put the parka on completely.

“But the Lightwoods are here,” he said, as he shrugged the jacket more comfortably onto his shoulders. “Shouldn’t I--”

“No no no, come here,” Simon said, “you--” There was a short scuffling on the other side of the line, and then Raphael said, “Syndicate. Sebastian. The Lightwoods went after them blind. We have floor plans of their stakeout and receipts--”

Jace’s eyes widened, and he said, “I’m on my way. Text me the location of the apartment.” He hung up and turned around, looking at Hayley, who was now collecting the cards silently.

“Go,” she said. Meeting his eyes, she added, “My father was in the Secret Service. I know a battle-ready agent when I see one.” She made shooing motions with her hands, and Jace didn’t need to be told twice.

As he bounded out of the apartment complex, his phone pinging the location of Simon’s apartment, Hayley smiled sadly and closed the door behind him.

\---

“I’m a soldier,” Sebastian began, hands crossed over his chest. He paced in a measured line, then back the way he came, perpendicular to Magnus’s chair, so that Magnus was forced to turn his head slightly left and slightly right to keep him within his field of vision.

Usually, unnecessary movement irked him - it wasn’t fluid, and usually impeded upon perfection. But his mind was so busy thrumming through different plans of escape and cataloguing his vaguely familiar surroundings, that the twitch-like movements didn’t even register.

“I was raised as a soldier,” Sebastian continued. “My father made sure of it. I wasn’t spoiled and pampered, I was hammered into the perfect example of what a leader and a fighter should be. I was raised in his image. I was raised by him.”

“And he managed to run a crime syndicate at the same time?” Magnus said, smirking. “You must have been so malleable.”

Sebastian scowled, but didn’t break his stride, and continued as if Magnus hadn’t spoken. “I had the opportunity to leave this life. In fact, Valentine offered it to me twice. And twice, I declined. Why give up my birthright, a world of possibilities and power? To what end?”

“The moral end?” Magnus suggested.

“Tell me,” Sebastian said, his hands going out to his sides in an expansive, expectant gesture, “how is anything else more moral than this? Who gets to decide what is immoral and what isn’t?”

“Well,” Magnus retorted, “if you actually read Rousseau instead of grandstanding, you’d know what a social contract is, and that it doesn’t happen to agree that the unorthodox methods of a standard crime syndicate are ones that fit into its version of morality.”

Sebastian stared at him.

Magnus shrugged, grinning. “I managed to educate myself, despite not having a psychotic father with delusions of grandeur. I daresay my education was a tad more diverse than yours.”

“Can I punch him again?” Elias asked plaintively from next to Magnus; Sebastian nodded, his jaw tight, and Magnus barely had time to prepare before Elias sucker punched him.

All the air was driven out of him in a gasp, and Magnus jerked forwards, his shoulder muscles straining, his wrists burning, as he bent over, struggling to regain his composure amongst wheezing gasps for breath.

“What… a… waste,” he gasped out, then coughed and straightened up a fraction. Sebastian was watching him warily. Magnus grinned, and winced a bit as he felt the beginning of what was going to be a nasty bruise on his jaw from earlier.

“If your father truly trained you to be a soldier,” Magnus bit out, “why do you have a lackey doing your work for you?”

Something ugly flitted across Sebastian’s face, but the smile returned, feral as ever. “My father was weak,” he said harshly. “My father put too much stock in family. I am who I am because of him, but I am not his soldier. Not anymore.”

Straightening up, he airily added, “Besides, I need to preserve my strength for the final act.”

\---

Simon was glued to the laptop, sipping at the cup of tea that Raphael made him and resolutely keeping his gaze away from Raphael’s. The older man was hovering around him, but he never settled close to him. The situation was awkward enough and Raphael wasn’t about to make it worse. And even though Simon craved Raphael’s calming grasp on his shoulder, his warmth, just the sense of him being near - he felt edgy, uncomfortable.

There was so much about him that he didn’t know. He fell fast and hard, and it hadn’t been a complete hardship to make leaps of faith, but too much had transpired - in relation to other things - for Simon to sink into Raphael’s side and feel as if every run of Raphael’s fingers through his hair was pushing the darkness away.

So for now, he focused on combing through the cracked files, frowning at the simplicity. “You’d think their plans were more intricate,” he muttered to himself.

From the entrance to the kitchen, Clary and Raphael watched him - Clary with mild amusement, Raphael with naked fear. Clary glanced over at Raphael and laid a comforting hand on his upper arm. “Don’t worry, Raph,” she said gently. “He’ll come around.”

Raphael, who usually had a pithy response to everything, just nodded numbly.

Simon scoffed and hung his head.  _ You’re being ridiculous, _ he chided himself. But another part of himself wondered who Becca was, and why Raphael told him next to nothing about his past. So instead of lunging at Raphael, wrapping his arms around him and never letting him go, Simon said, “It must be nice.”

“What?” Raphael said.

“It must be nice,” Simon repeated. “To have Clary on your side.”

“Hey,” Clary said, a note of warning in her voice. “Look back at the invoices, Simon.”

“Which I found,” he muttered. And then he looked at the folder again, sorted the files, and squinted. “Hey. I think--”

Jace burst through the door and nearly ran into Clary. “What the fuck’s going on?” he said, breathing heavily.

“Did you run the whole way here?” Raphael asked, but Jace waved him off, instead making a beeline for Simon and sitting next to him on the couch.

“What--” Simon said irritably, but Jace was already scrolling through the files, clicking on them at random and comparing them.

“Simon, you were saying something right before Jace--” Clary started, and Simon shook his head again, clearing the awe of seeing Dudebro Jace’s fingers fly over the keyboard as if he knew what he was doing.

“Yeah,” he said faintly. “There’s a bunch of invoices and order manifests. There’s security equipment, a few tech stuff, and--” he leaned in closer to see what Jace was doing. “Is that--”

“Hotel manifests,” Jace completed his sentence. “They’ve been moving around, and they’re meticulous. They’re always prepared.”

“Why is there--” Simon paused, and then slapped Jace’s hands away from the keyboard. “Move, I think-- Jesus,” he exhaled softly, ignoring Jace’s exclamation.

From the kitchen entryway, Raphael and Clary watched, open-mouthed, as Jace and Simon crouched over the laptop, heads nearly knocking.

“The most recent manifest is for a single occupancy,” Simon said, then clicked out of the window. “And these orders--” He waved his hand at the screen excitedly. “Jace, look!”

Jace leaned in, and his eyes grew wide. “That’s--”

“Yeah!” Simon said. They stared at each other for a moment, then Simon cleared his throat and went back to the computer while Jace jumped up and started pacing, his fingers flying over the screen of his phone, his lips set in a grim line.

“What the fuck just happened?” Raphael half-whispered to Clary.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking at Simon’s jumping leg as he mapped out their route and at Jace silently swearing at his phone, “but I don’t think it’s good.”

\---

Of course Magnus wasn’t answering his phone. Why would he answer his phone? How could he, if he was probably already dead?

Alec’s mind was blank, his hands balled into fists in his pockets. Isabelle had confiscated his phone so that she could try and track Magnus’s phone with it; all he could do was stand there, outside of the locked-up doors of Biscuit, as Isabelle muttered and jabbed at the phone screens alternately.

His parents stood there as well, conversing between them in low voices and glancing at him. Alec ignored them; it wasn’t that hard. He could have been looking straight at them and not heard a word they said. He was blank, and numb, but also somehow mad. Mostly at himself.

“Alec, who--” his father started, and his mother glanced at her husband, then at Alec and finished the question, “--who is Magnus?”

Alec stared at them. “What?” he croaked.

“Why are we looking for him?” his mother asked, gently.

“He’s--” Alec started hoarsely, then cleared his throat and said, “he’s my-- he’s-- Magnus is-- mine.”

Suddenly, it felt like they were standing oceans apart. He couldn’t see his mother’s face, or his father’s hands in his pockets, or Isabelle peering at the phones. He was at one point of an unfathomably large triangle, and even though he could reach out and touch his mother’s shoulder, he was alone, awash in a sea of white.

And, he was drawn back by Isabelle’s shout of joy at finding Magnus’s location, he dimly felt her pull him back to reality.

“Alec?” she asked gently, squeezing his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He nodded numbly.

“Do you want to sit this out?”

He jerked around to look at her, and she smiled mirthlessly. “Thought that would get you moving, brother,” she said. “Now, let’s go get your man.”

\---

“My father thought he was leaving me a richly appointed business,” Sebastian mused, pacing in front of Magnus. “But he was double-crossed, and I was left to pick up the pieces.

“And what pitiful pieces they were. Shards of a shaky hierarchy, outdated ideals and appalling financial form. I tried molding those into something resembling a smoothly running machine, but the raw materials were so subpar that it came crashing down.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” Magnus remarked.

“Yes,” Sebastian said. “I am.” He stopped in front of Magnus and crouched down so that he was eye-level with the bruised man. “This is my life, Bane,” he said softly. “This is my world. I’m not going to let a faulty inheritance keep me from blazing my own way to the top.”

“People have long memories in the underworld,” Magnus said. “Or at least, that’s what the movies say.”

Sebastian chuckled. “You’re right. My climb won’t be easy. In order to start, I need a boost. And that boost is playing by arcane rules of revenge.”

Magnus’s eyes widened. “You--”

“I don’t want to kill them,” Sebastian said. “It’s unnecessary. Extra, as the kids say. But I’m not doing it because I resent them. The opposite is true - I have them to thank for burning my father’s empire to the ground so I could spring forth from the ashes.

“But the underworld doesn’t understand that logic. I can’t reform the rules of an entire business model, I can only change myself and my image.”

Sebastian opened his mouth, then spun towards Elias, who was standing next to the wall with a pair of wire cutters. “Elias,” Sebastian called, and Elias froze, hand posed over a twinkling wire. “What are you doing?”

“I’m--” Elias stuttered. Before he could complete his sentence, Sebastian’s hand flicked out from his pocket almost effortlessly, and a dull thud was heard.

Red bloomed in Magnus’s vision.

All he could see was red.

A scream.

And the world went dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO REGRETS


	22. games, changes, and fears - when will they go from here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND BLOOD. ALSO KNIVES.
> 
> I'm back.
> 
> You'll hate me by the end of the chapter.
> 
> Title is from Macy Gray's [I Try](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYIW6MTigGQ). Playlist can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLK6MhAk0XSRYmjOIzU3o1bKI2aBpLjWvF).

 

Everything was a whirlwind to Simon.

From the moment he had leaned down to pick up the tiny SD card, his mind had quietly switched lanes; instead of the stinging questions he wanted to fire at Raphael, or the desire to curl his hands into fists and fight his way out of the fog of uncertainty, he was razor-sharp, mind terribly focused as he flew his way through the information being thrown his way.

But it wasn’t like it usually was, the sweet bite of information, the flashing grind of processing, the exultation in making the connection, the joy of understanding. Simon’s chest was too tight for that. His breaths came too short for joy. His stomach was too busy being queasy to be happy about anything.

He stood next to the door, tapping his foot, his arms crossed over his chest. Jace was pacing in front of the coffee table, muttering to himself and still typing furiously. Clary was getting dressed, and Raphael was standing by the entrance to the kitchen, hands shoved deep into his pockets and his head turned towards Simon, stare fixed on Simon's shoes. 

Simon felt a jolt of something run through him, hot and painful, shocking his mind to a momentary halt. His face grew hot as he realized that he was staring at Raphael unabashedly now; Raphael must have realized it as well, because he raised his gaze to meet Simon's. 

Simon swallowed. Raphael’s eyes were fearful. His mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes were wide and his shoulders were trembling very slightly - just enough for Simon to pick up on it. 

Simon gulped, again. When he was uncomfortable, or emotional, Raphael tended to do things without thinking; Magnus, in the past, had had to smooth the ruffled feathers of many a customer that didn't like it when their barista snapped at them for being difficult. Raphael never got in trouble, because Magnus empathized with him and their location (and Magnus's baking) protected them from any significant business losses. 

And right now, Raphael looked like he was about to do something without thinking. 

But instead of whatever confused scenario Simon had flashing through his mind, Raphael held Simon's gaze and jerked his head towards the kitchen. And Simon, pulled by an invisible force, followed.

He found him leaning on the sink, hands gripping the counter forcefully. He was staring at his own shoes, his jaw jumping. His breaths were short. Simon found that his were getting shorter as well, and internally chastised himself before he hopped up onto the kitchen table and crossed his arms over his chest. They were standing less than four feet away from each other, but to Simon it seemed as if there was an insurmountable rubicon stretched between them.

Raphael was a perfect image of distress, and suddenly Simon didn’t want to be sharp anymore. His heart constricted painfully in his chest and his hands spasmed, fighting against his reticence to get near Raphael. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think; his head was warring with his heart, making his swinging legs flex and point as he decided to jump off the table, but then decided to stay put, and changed his mind 50 times over before,

“Simon, are you having a seizure?”

Simon jerked his head up. Raphael was still holding onto the sink ledge as if it was the only thing keeping him afloat, but his head was up, and he was looking at Simon with concern.

“No,” Simon said. “I’m just not sure what to do.”

“Is there something you are sure of right now?” Raphael asked quietly. 

The note of self-deprecation in Raphael’s voice was lost on Simon, who felt the question pick him up and carry him to shore, setting him down in front of the only correct course of action.

Simon stared at Raphael and slowly, inexplicably, nodded. “Yeah,” he said, and blinked. “Yeah, I’m-- this. This. Us. Our--” One of his arms uncrossed from his chest to make a vague circular motion in the general direction of Raphael, whose posture was straightening up from its defensive curl inwards. 

Finally, Raphael was standing straight. “We still need to talk,” he said, after scrutinizing Simon for a silent moment.

Simon shook his head and pushed himself off the table, the imaginary rubicon dissipating as he approached Raphael. “No, Santiago,” he said softly, his hands picking Raphael’s up off the counter and lacing their fingers together, “you need to talk.” And before Raphael could respond, Simon leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth softly, chastely, but lingering just a moment too long - or just long enough to feel Raphael’s breath of relief against his cheek.

Pulling back, he offered a small smile, one that Raphael returned in spades.

Jace cleared his throat from the entrance to the kitchen. Simon jumped back and turned towards the entrance, racing past a very amused Clary to the coffee table to collect his equipment, his face on fire. He could hear Raphael chuckle softly, and in between the hasty winding of cords and shoving on of winter gear, something in Simon’s mind settled down.

\---

“In your defense,” Magnus heard Sebastian say conversationally from a distance, “I fainted the first time Dad killed someone in front of me, too.”

Magnus kept his eyes screwed shut. “I’d ask how you can be so blasé about it,” he ground out raggedly, teeth chattering, “but I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.”

“I’m a psychopath,” Sebastian said, and this time he was so close that Magnus couldn’t help it - his eyes flew open. Sebastian was standing in front of him, idly cleaning under his nails with the knife.

Magnus couldn’t bring himself to look over at the crumpled form in the periphery of his vision, but the bright red streaks on the lower part of the blade said it all. If Elias wasn’t dead, he was gravely injured.

His breaths started coming out in gasps, pushed out through tightly clenched teeth. His heart was hammering against his ribcage, and if his hands could move, they’d be shaking. And yet, his mind was strangely empty. Putting it on autopilot tended to do that.

However, letting instinct take the wheel also meant that the old, carefree, sarcastic Magnus came out to play. It was like what he imagined Zaphod Beeblebrox felt like daily; one part of him was sitting there, cowering back into the chair, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, and the other part of him was stretching languidly (as much as he could when tied to a chair) and forcing his grin to settle into something less scared and more self-satisfied.

Scared Magnus couldn’t believe that Confident Magnus had suddenly flipped his lid, but then he slammed back into himself as a surge of confidence flowed into his mind. He still could feel bile rising in his throat at the thought of turning his head towards the bloodied heap in the corner, but now he could feel his face again.

And use it.

Sebastian’s face darkened at Magnus’s raised eyebrow, but Magnus was beyond caring. “Not a high-functioning sociopath?” Magnus inquired, managing to sound almost bored.

Sebastian stared at him, then in a blink of an eye was bent over Magnus, almost straddling his lap, pulling his head back by his hair in one hand and twirling the knife in his other hand - or Magnus assumed he was twirling the knife, since it wasn’t buried in his sternum and yet he could smell the coppery-wet smell of fresh blood coming off the blade.

“You mock me,” Sebastian snarled, “as if you're not pitiful yourself.” His black eyes gleamed as he brought his face even closer to Magnus's. “I own my fall from grace. I use it to hoist myself back up to glory. You, on the other hand, have never tasted glory. Even when you were close, you skittered away into the arms of comfort.”

“Seriously,” Magnus muttered, “only you could make comfort sound like a bad thing.”

Comfortable was not what he was feeling at the moment, with Sebastian’s scentless breath ghosting over his face and his neck painfully arched back.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Again with the sarcasm,” he said, his voice like velvet sliding over Magnus’s ears. Suddenly, Magnus missed the rough scrape of Alec’s sleepy voice that much more. “But I don’t understand why.”

“Because I’m good at it, and frankly you’re boring me,” Magnus shot back.

When he felt the cool metal of the knife pressing against his jugular and an ugly look on Sebastian’s face, he regretted his words.

\---

“Izzy,” Alec said quietly as they approached the industrial area, “where’s Jace?”

They were walking in the street, following Izzy at a frustratingly slow pace so that she could be sure of the GPS navigation taking them to the right location. Their parents hung back a bit, conversing in low voices; his mother was texting the whole time, but still carried her own in what seemed to Alec to be another argument.

“I think he’s with the others,” she said absently, then turned to her right abruptly and pointed. “He’s there.”

_ There  _ was a block of warehouses, standing silent and hulking in the snow. They continued on for a few blocks, on both sides of the street.

“Are you sure?” he asked Izzy, and she nodded, showing him the phone screen. The small pulsing dot was indeed to their right, on the edge of the industrial district, between the warehouses and a few rows of shops.

Alec looked up and swore. The buildings were huge, close together, and seemed to be empty. In fact, the whole area was eerily silent.

Then, someone cleared their throat behind them. Alec and Izzy spun around and saw their parents standing there, looking slightly amused.

“If you’re wondering which one of these holds Magnus,” Robert said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls, “use what we taught you.”

“Dad, this is not--” Isabelle started angrily, but Alec followed his mother’s gaze - she held his for a moment, then slid her eyes over to a break in the pristine white of the snow.

It was easy to miss, but there was a fairly wide swath of snow that was significantly lower than the rest, even though it was as white - but that was because snow was falling all the while. Alec handed Izzy her phone back, walked over to the dip in the snow, and held his foot over the snow. With a twitch of his ankle, he swept away the topmost layer of freshly fallen snow.

Amidst patches of lighter snow that had adhered to the bottom layer, dark grey sludge glinted through.

Alec stormed forwards, and the rest of the family followed. Making his strides wide and deep so as to ascertain that they were going in the right direction, Alec breathed harder as he followed the path between two warehouses and turned left, then right, then left again--

And stopped, nearly running into a car parked by the door to one of the warehouses.

He pulled off his glove and laid his hand on the hood. It wasn’t freezing, but it had definitely been used recently, maybe within the past hour.

“Remember the chill factor,” Izzy murmured next to him, her words creating faint streams of steam. She laid her hand on the hood, then squinted up at the sky. “I’d say less than an hour,” she murmured, craning her neck to see the area around the car, also dusted with freshly fallen snow.

“Then we still have a chance,” Alec said, then turned around. His mother was standing there, watching them; Alec immediately assumed that the brightness in her eyes was because of the wind, and if she was asked, she would say the same.

She walked softly over to them. “Your father went to survey the perimeter,” she said quietly, and her face hardened. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”

\---

“Why am I keeping you alive?” Sebastian murmured, placing the blade flat against Magnus’s throat. Magnus kept his breath shallow and fast; panic blossomed in his stomach as he felt the sharp blade scrape against his flesh.

“I need a plaything until the main act,” Sebastian answered himself, then grinned. “But I haven’t really played with you, have I.” He grabbed Magnus’s jaw with his other hand and, pulling the blade away from Magnus’s neck, turned his head this way and that, scrutinizing him. “You would have made a good general in the Syndicate,” he said, then let go of Magnus’s jaw abruptly.

Magnus took a deep breath, then expelled it - and just in time, because the knife was back at his throat.

His body was running on autopilot now. His mind was too busy instructing the rest of him how to keep functioning to resist, which is why he found himself catching Sebastian’s gaze.

His eyes were black, fathomless, and narrowed. The knife undulated right under his chin as if it was dancing, and Magnus swallowed convulsively, tears leaking out the corner of his eyes.

He could feel them, ghosts of cuts that could have been decorating his throat, but Sebastian’s hand was too deft with the knife. He didn’t dare swallow again, in case the knife was lying against his jugular.

It was as if Sebastian was tracing on the most delicate rice paper, but it was his throat and the pencil was a knife. Even if it wasn’t leaving any marks, Magnus felt as if the most vicious of tattoos was being burned into his skin.

Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, and Sebastian laughed darkly, his hand stopping. “Finally,” he said.

“I’m only human,” Magnus said in a near-whisper.

Sebastian shrugged. “Not my problem.” He cricked his neck and hummed. “Yes, the next stage  _ would _ be setting the stage,” he murmured, and then the knife flicked out of sight--into sight--

He thought he had no energy left in him to resist, but as Sebastian carved, Magnus dimly heard himself screaming.

\---

Robert had just joined them when they heard the scream. Izzy’s hand clamped down on Alec’s forearm, but he shook her off and sprinted to the warehouse door.

“Alec!” She cried, and he turned around, his eyes sparking with anger on the edge of madness.

“Either come with me, or wait out here,” he said, and threw the door open.

\---

Before he could notice anything, Alec stumbled over something in the doorway. Looking down, he saw an arm, and his heart froze.

But the hand was darker than Magnus’s, and clutching a pair of wire cutters, and as his gaze moved, he saw that it was attached to a shorter, stockier person.

A person who was crumpled over himself, his back to Alec, where in his camel pea coat there was a long, ugly--

Izzy barrelled into him and Alec stumbled forwards, tearing his eyes away from the dead man - one horror - to the horror in front of him.

“Magnus!” he yelled, bolting forwards, and Sebastian stepped away smoothly, walking almost sedately towards the table situated nearby. But Alec didn’t see Sebastian, or hear his parents’ calling them, or even Isabelle raging at Sebastian; his vision narrowed to one point.

Magnus’s bloodied face, fallen forwards on his chest. His hands, bound to the chair. His chest was barely rising and falling.

But it was rising.

And falling.

Alec rushed to his side and dropped to his knees. “Magnus,” he breathed, and his fingers rose to Magnus’s cheek, but the older man hissed in pain and Alec pulled his hand away jerkily, fingertips glistening red.

“I’m going to kill him,” Alec muttered, hands hovering uncertainly over Magnus, not knowing where he can put them. “What did he do to you?”

“He set the stage,” Magnus muttered softly, his eyes still closed. “The blood-- it’s just a superficial cut.”

“He cut you?” Alec whispered, horrified. His eyes roved over Magnus’s face; he could now see that most of the blood was coming from a nearly surgical cut near Magnus’s hairline. It seemed shallow, but was still bleeding.

“Magnus!” Izzy exclaimed, joining them, her parents in tow. They all stood around Magnus’s chair, and suddenly it struck Alec how strange the situation must have been for his parents. He pulled a knife out of his boot and started sawing away at the ropes binding Magnus’s hands, being careful not to jostle him too much.

“Well, isn’t this sweet,” Sebastian said from the table, where he was sitting almost casually. “The entire Lightwood family together again. And, well, Alec’s plus one.”

“You’re Valentine’s boy,” Robert said, turning around.

Sebastian spread his arms wide and grinned. “Finally, recognition!” He lowered his arms, but didn’t erase his smile. “Too bad it isn’t going to save you.”

“What do you mean?” Maryse demanded, stepping next to her husband, just as Alec managed to cut through the ropes and moved onto the ropes around Magnus’s legs. He could barely see Sebastian; his parents had subconsciously situated themselves between their children and him, shielding them.

“This building is rigged,” Sebastian said, and his voice got farther away. “You’re going to die here. All of you.”

“Why--” Izzy began, and Sebastian laughed.

“You’re my stepping stone, little girl! You, and your brother, and your parents. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. You die, I rise again. It’s as simple as that. Or,” and Alec craned his neck, hand on Magnus’s arm, just in time to see Sebastian hold up a remote, “as simple as this.”

And he pushed the button.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told ya.
> 
> ...
> 
> Come [here](http://grrrbarrowman.tumblr.com) or [here](http://twitter.com/ringerxo) to yell at me about it.


	23. i am sharper than a razor, eyes made of lasers, bolder than the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, not at all sweet.
> 
> We're near the end.
> 
> This is a journey that I intend to see through. It would be unfair to not share it.
> 
> Song is Janelle Monae and Prince's [Givin Em What They Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpLmNYHv6_0). Entire playlist is [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLK6MhAk0XSRYmjOIzU3o1bKI2aBpLjWvF).

Nothing happened.

 

Sebastian frowned, looking at the remote. “Weird,” he mused to himself, popping the batteries out of the small rectangle and blowing on them. “This worked when we tested it.” He popped the batteries back in, casually backhanded Isabelle as she attempted to bumrush him, and pressed the button again.

Isabelle stumbled but regained her balance, spun on her heel and attempted to rush him again. Aiming low, she dived at him from a strange crouching run and caught him around the knees, toppling him over at the cost of her balance as well. The two were tangled together in a grotesque parody of a lover’s embrace, but if Isabelle’s knee sunk into Sebastian’s crotch and his thumbs grappling to insert themselves in her eyes but not reaching her face were any hint, it was far from loving.

Meanwhile, Alec turned back to Magnus, whose head had lolled to the side in the interval. His fingers stuttered in the air over Magnus’s cheekbones, not knowing how to help or comfort without causing additional pain.

“Alec, I can stand,” Magnus said softly, “but I’m going to need your help.”

With instruction from him, Alec maneuvered around until he was grasping Magnus’s waist gently as the older man leaned on him, panting with effort. Robert stood behind him, gun drawn, watching the dusty expanse of space as if another Syndicate member was going to jump out of the shadows at any minute.

\---

The scuffle was getting more violent. Maryse was standing by, unable to intervene in the close contact scuffle without hurting Isabelle, wringing her hands like a bizarre referee, as Isabelle shrieked and clawed at Sebastian’s bare shoulder, managing to dig a few deep furrows in his skin beyond the ripped shirt he was wearing. With a roar, Sebastian twisted his upper body and out of the viselike grip of her thighs and grabbed her right forearm. With a vicious jerk of his hands, he pulled hard and downwards.

Maryse lunged forwards and stomped her boot down near Sebastian’s head (it would have been on his head, but he squirmed out of the way right on time), but the damage was done. Isabelle grunted, then whimpered, as her shoulder dislocated from its socket. Sebastian’s pressure didn’t abate and he seemed intent on breaking her wrist as well, hands twisting on her forearm-- but then his hands let go and his entire form tensed.

Isabelle looked over and saw her mother’s boot on her opponent’s neck, Sebastian’s hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth leather as he choked. Gritting her teeth, Isabelle scooted out from under him and sat up, vision going white as her right arm was jostled and she bit back a scream.

“Stop it,” Maryse hissed, keeping her stance wide so Sebastian couldn’t topple her using her other leg, “or I step down.” The tip of her boot ground down, and Sebastian froze, eyes widening and arms dropping to his sides.

\---

Jace was crouched outside the warehouse, watching as Mack picked through the box of wires taped next to a door on the far side of the building. It was a fairly new box, and far more intricate than what Jace had managed to gather from the rough blueprints on the memory card, but Mack was an expert.

“You’re lucky I was awake, Jace,” Mack muttered, shining their cellphone flashlight into the tangle and separating them gently with the tip of a screwdriver. “And you owe me an explanation.”

“You’ll get one as soon as I do,” Jace promised. “Is it disarmed?”

“Yup,” Mack said, brushing off their hands and standing up. “The building was wired with starter cables and explosives, but I disabled the remote ignition system and cut off electricity to the whole building.”

“Excellent,” Jace grinned. “We’ve got those fuckers cornered.”

\---

Alec was almost at the door, Magnus limping besides him, when he chanced a look over at his sister. She was sitting up, but curled over and favoring her right side. His mother, boot still balanced on Sebastian’s neck, looked up at him, then looked at Isabelle.

“Go,” she said. “Get him to a hospital.”

“But--”

“Unless you want to be complicit in a murder, Alexander,” she said icily, “go.”

“I don’t want you to murder anyone,” he heard himself saying.

Her eyes widened. “This isn’t the time for moral compunctions!”

“Listen to your mother, Alec,” Sebastian rasped. “Not the t-- urk.”

Maryse raised her boot a scant inch and glared. “Robert, take Isabelle. I have to take out the trash.”

“Let me save you the effort, Maryse,” Sebastian rasped again. Alec noticed the gun in his hand a split second before Sebastian shakily raised it and emptied the magazine into the far wall behind Maryse.

And then everything went to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [Twitter](http://twitter.com/ringerxo) and [Tumblr](http://grrrbarrowman.tumblr.com).
> 
> Feel free to rant at me, I deserve it at this point.
> 
> Also, and this may because I'm slightly tipsy right now but I would say this sober too, this story is incredibly important to me and the comments have raised me out of some pretty dark places and I will see. it through.
> 
> And I love [Lu](http://twitter.com/_l_ecrit). Go check out her stuff.


End file.
